Scars
by Lucky Gun
Summary: A trip to Asgard to keep Barton out of the Council's reach after the Battle of New York places the agent in more danger than anyone could have ever imagined. Face to face with demigods capable of reading his very soul, Hawkeye is forced to protect his teammates and himself from Loki's growing influence while on the prince's home world. Sequel to Bruises. AU. *Strong subject matter*
1. Chapter 1

Title: Scars – Chapter One

Author: Lucky Gun

Beta: SpenChester

Summary: A trip to Asgard to keep Barton out of the Council's reach after the Battle of New York places the agent in more danger than anyone could have ever imagined. Face to face with demigods capable of reading his very soul, Hawkeye is forced to protect his teammates and himself from Loki's growing influence while on the prince's home world. Sequel to Bruises. AU. Contains whump, language, and torture.

A/N: It's been awhile, my friends, and in this time I have lived and loved and learned and all that sweet, sweet jazz. This story picks up just as Bruises ends and I will be making a grand attempt at reconciling Nordic mythology with Marvel canon. Of course, some things won't mesh up, but I'll do my best. Again, this story is going to be Clint-centric, hurt/comfort/angst, and will deal with the fallout from Bruises. Please leave a review if you can! They're my crack.

* * *

It was quiet in the throne room, the golden floors echoing nothing but the breathing of the guards and the subsonic thrums of heartbeats. Upon his mighty seat, Odin Allfather sat silently, reflective in the request his audience had placed. His years rested lighter than usual on him with the knowledge that his firstborn was returning home this day, but the leaden words that had echoed through the room minutes before still pounded in his head.

"What urged you to ask such a thing, Forseti? Surely my discretion and Thor's would be sufficient in this matter for all citizens of Asgard," he finally responded, his calm voice carrying through the room.

Standing respectfully at the base of the stairs leading to the throne, the tall blond leaned slightly on his rigid staff, the thick dark cloak on his back barely shifting with his movements. The movement did reveal a sharp sword on one hip and a small shield on the other, the silver of his armament contrasting beautifully with his black clothing. He had an air of patience about him and seemed genuinely regretful to be making such a petition.

"I do defer to your greater wisdom and Thor's personal experience in this matter, but the facts cannot be ignored. In this tragic case, there is a very thin line between guilty and not. He may have been stopped, arguably at the cost of his own life, but the truth is simmering just below the surface. I cannot leave this wound to fester, my king. You know this."

A silent sigh passed through Odin's lips and his shoulders fell.

"I know you are honor-bound to deliver justice in the fairest terms allowed by nature, and I will not attempt stop you. I simply wonder what made you ask such a thing."

There was an apologetic smile on Forseti's face, knowing that the answer would further complicate his king's future.

"Sigyn requested my review of the situation, my lord. I cannot say no."

Indeed, the weight hanging around the king's neck seemed to double. He sighed again, audibly this time, and he finally nodded.

"Just as I cannot deny the validity of her request. You and I are both intimately aware of the crimes perpetrated on Earth, Forseti. What can be the outcome of such a trial?" the king asked softly, the question low with his weary voice.

His smile turning a bit more grim, Forseti took a moment before he responded, "Victim or accomplice. The decision shall ultimately be left to destiny, no matter the strength of my scales, the power of your command, or the might of Thor's words. If he is a victim of your son, then he shall not be harmed. If he is an accomplice, he shall join him."

Closing his eyes tightly, Odin took a few moments to reconcile the situation within himself, determining the truth in his friend's words.

"I understand. Answer me honestly, Forseti, with nothing but your heart on your tongue. Does Loki have any chance of being saved?"

Forseti blinked and looked away, separating the deity within from his own soul. After a moment, he returned his gaze to his tired king, seeing a father instead of a lord upon the throne.

"Allfather, neither Sigyn nor you nor Thor nor myself can save Loki from his own doom; his crimes are determined and he is sentenced, and that mandate shall never be transmuted. This review may see an ebbing of his pain at the cost of another's agony." He paused, then tempered his words by adding softly, "But the only foolish hope is abandoned hope."

Odin said nothing and did not move, but a few moments of silence was easily read as a dismissal. Forseti bowed low and turned, exiting the chamber swiftly. His own words rang mercilessly in his head, and he strode from the palace in distraction. He didn't spare the stars above or the water below more than a quick glance as he mounted his horse, the group of demigods around him loud with anticipation. The four warriors spurred their mounts on ahead, trotting along the bridge with excitement. He hung back, his own steed taking his silent cue for a unhurried walk, and he sensed the moment his riding companion's horse fell in step with his. The six unladen horses tethered behind them followed them dutifully, their steps filling the increasingly long quiet until a soft voice broke his reverie.

"I have rarely seen you so upset, my son."

Forseti turned to look at his father with a small smile, the other man's ability to read his moods so perfectly a welcome addition to his world at the moment. Astride the other horse, Balder gave an answering smile, his shoulder length brown hair waving gently in the sea breeze. His shimmering brown leather armor gave him both a war-ready and gentle look, and peace enveloped the very air he exhaled.

"I simply mourn for the days ahead, for the pain that must be felt by all involved for nothing more than a smitten maiden. My heart tells me that the crimes were true, the intent impure, but logic dictates I must meet the soul and determine it for my own. Such a trial for one who has already been through much..."

Balder nodded slightly, his eyes conflicted as he responded, "Do not believe he is innocent in everything, child. In this, perhaps. But he has his own sins to atone for, and some would say he desires the punishment that you can deliver to him. You must determine if he deserves such a thing or if he has suffered enough."

Frowning, Forseti asked, "Isn't any drop of suffering too much, father? Even Loki's punishment, deserved and blessed by destiny though it is, is enough to make my heart ache. He may be beyond saving, but he is still our king's son, our prince's brother, a lord himself."

Exhaling slowly and softly, Balder took a few seconds to answer, "Justice, even when it is apt, can be painful. But harmony does not mean the absence of pain. It simply means that it is accepted, risen to, and embraced. How one deals with strife is the factor we must account for when we seek balance, not the strife itself."

Nodding slightly, Forseti considered his father's words before he asked, "I can't let him know, can I?"

They were nearing the rebuilt Bifrost, and Balder tugged the reigns slightly and his mount came to a steady stop. He turned unreadable eyes to his son, and Forseti sighed a bit.

"Right."

The warriors in front of them had long since dismounted and walked into the bridge chamber and father and son made to follow. They all gathered within the golden hall, greeting the Gatekeeper with silent nods, and waited no more than ten minutes before the chamber began spinning at Heimdall's order.

For better or for worse, Asgard was about to play host to humans.

* * *

The room they were in was gold, round, and bigger than he could have adequately guessed; the floor was dark and still yet simultaneously threw too many shadows for him to measure the area accurately. There was speed and movement and flashing light behind him, and he turned sharply, fingers twitching. He froze when he saw the arrow-like tunnel spinning slower and slower, winding down as it returned to a vertical position at the top of the room. He glanced at it once before dropping his gaze, his hand coming up automatically to wipe his lips with the back of his palm. The taste of bile was still heavy on his tongue, and he swallowed reflexively.

He decided that vomiting in front of a welcoming delegation of demigods wasn't something he'd tell Phil Coulson about; he was sure there was something entirely against the act in his old cultural relations studies. But Coulson was back on Earth with Director Fury, tracking down the SHIELD agents who'd attempted to kill him, and he was stuck on Asgard with the rest of the Avengers for the next three weeks. It had been a long time since he'd been absolutely mortified, and having half his team staring at him while the other half pointedly looked away was quickly making his cheeks color.

"You okay, Robin Hood?" Tony Stark asked, his head ducked slightly so that he could stare at the archer over the tops of his mirrored Aviators.

The assassin known as Hawkeye nodded and pulled off his black framed, red lens Oakley Gascans and shoved them into his inside jacket pocket, angry with himself, his team, and the universe in general. He didn't _want_ to be on Asgard. He didn't _want _to travel God knows how far across space to get away from a few bastards who were making his life just slightly more hellish than usual. And he sure as hell didn't _want_ to throw up all over the freaking entry room for the Bifrost thing Thor had told them about a few million light years ago.

But he was there, his boots touching the same floor Loki had walked, his eyes seeing the same walls Loki had memorized, his lungs sucking in the same fresh air Loki had breathed. He wasn't going to be able to leave anytime soon, and he was a SHIELD agent, an assassin with a highly regarded reputation to protect, and he decided he damn well better start acting like it and defending it properly.

"Yeah, just not quite used to galactic travel on an empty stomach." he said as he glanced around, eyes lingering on his partner for a little longer than was necessary.

Natasha nodded once as she switched her duffel from one hand to another and shifted the weapons backpack she carried, an action he mimicked unconsciously. He looked to Bruce next, who looked like a kid in a candy shop, and Steve nodded slightly even as he looked a little green around the gills himself. Tony said nothing though his eyes were tracking around the room with a nervous energy that Clint was definitely coming to understand.

The floor below his feet gave a rainbow response as he shifted and concentric circles of light, like ripples in a pond, gave a bit of an optical illusion that threatened to give him a headache. Blinking against the afterimage, Clint took a combat review of the area, taking in the seven unfamiliar people and the exit they were blocking. Glancing down, unsure as to how he was supposed to go about cleaning up his mess, he was surprised to find it nowhere in sight. Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, he simply straightened and tried to find his metaphorical balance in the situation.

He wasn't surprised when Thor was the first one to move. At the front of their little group, the demigod had a wide smile upon his face as he turned to the people assembled before them. Throwing his arms open, his hammer in one hand, he rushed towards them, his relief and joy palpable in the air. Clint gave the unknowns a second look, slightly uneasy when he realized everyone was armed. He recognized four of the seven as ones he'd seen in New Mexico a year and a half before, the 'Renaissance Fair' troupe doing their damnedest imitations. He saw the fencing foil, the mace, the axe, and the staff, and he relaxed marginally. Then he looked at the other three, all standing with an air of disconnection and pomp, and he tensed up again.

"My friends! It is good to see you hale!" Thor shouted as he enveloped and was equally crushed into an embrace with the four other heavily armed fighters.

The three men, one almost as big as the Hulk, and one stick-thin woman laughed merrily and spoke in odd terms to each other as they exchanged a mass of greetings. Off to the side, two men in regal robes stood silently with patiently amused looks on their faces. At the top of the central podium, a dark man in shimmering metallic armor pulled a massive sword from the contraption at his feet and regarded the newcomers without much expression. Swallowing a wave of discomfort, Clint found himself meeting the man's penetrating gaze steadily, finding a sort of intensity that he hadn't expected to see in any eyes but his own. Then Thor drew his attention again, and the archer dragged his focus from the silent sentinel.

Waving the Avengers forward, the god of thunder eagerly said, "Come! Do not be shy; they will not bite. Well, Volstag might, if it has been too long since his last meal."

The jest was greeted with a round of raucous laughter by the axe-wielding mountain of a man, and Thor's smile grew even larger.

"My friends, you are all well met. This is Sif, the finest warrior-maiden in the land. This is Fandral, Hogun, and, of course, Volstag. Here they are called Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, my lieutenants and dearest friends."

The four Asgardians regarded the team warmly but distantly, natural suspicion fostering in their eyes.

"These are the fighters I told you about when I returned Loki. On Earth they are called the Avengers."

Taking over the introductions in his usual manner, Tony stepped forward as he slipped his sunglasses off his face, tucking one arm over the collar of his Blue Oyster Cult tee shirt and hanging them there. They dangled just above the very visible ring of energy that glowed in his chest.

"Yeah, Tony Stark, superhero and Iron Man supreme. Pleasure to make the acquaintance with honest to God alien entities."

Stepping forward, Bruce gave a winning smile even as he growled through his teeth, "They're demigods, Stark. Mind not pissing them off so quickly?" Lifting his hand in a wave, he said louder, "Bruce Banner, scientist and owner of, uh, the other big guy."

Hanging back a little, Steve nodded politely and said, "Steve Rogers, Captain, United States Army."

The four warriors gave small nods and glanced at the two silent assassins behind the group, and Clint knew Natasha had sensed his tense posture when she took over their own introductions.

"Agent Natasha Romanoff, level eight SHIELD operative, codename Black Widow. This is Agent Clint Barton, level nine SHIELD operative, codename Hawkeye."

At Clint's agent handle, the two demigods who'd been silent to the side straightened, and one stepped forward slowly, a soft and strange look in his green eyes. He had brown hair that hung to his shoulders, small braids adorned with beads scattered throughout. His clothes were a deep brown that glistened as he moved, his armor more leather than metal. He cocked his head slightly and regarded the archer with a deep interest.

"So this is the one who was able to break through the strongest magic known to our realm. Interesting. Very interesting."

He came closer to Clint and the archer instinctively shifted backwards and to the side, putting his back to Natasha, confident she would watch it. Thor was silent but studying the situation carefully, eyes tracking the other demigod with no fear and only a small amount of concern. Keeping his eyes locked on the approaching man's jade eyes, Clint forced himself to betray none of his own discomfort, falling back on years of training and instinct.

So when the Asgard abruptly reached a hand forward and placed a finger on that still-tender wound on the agent's chest, Clint managed to keep himself from reacting. When the telltale warmth of magic penetrated his skin and started coursing through his veins as his heart pumped rapidly, he jolted only slightly.

His smile maybe a little tight and forced, Barton said between clenched teeth, "I don't think we should move to second base until I at least have your name."

The green eyes locked on his twitched at the corners with some unknown sort of recognition, and the demigod pulled back, his hand dropping, the flush of magic disappearing almost instantly as he smiled with a bit of chagrin.

"Forgive me, friend. I did not mean to cause you unease. I have never met a human before, much less one with your strength of will, and I couldn't restrain myself. I am Balder, the keeper of peace within this realm." Gesturing towards the other man he'd been standing with, he continued, "This is Forseti, the keeper of justice, and my son. He requested to be present for the arrival of the Avengers."

Nodding slightly at the man, the man an almost carbon copy of Balder save for his youth and light hair, Barton responded automatically, "It's a pleasure."

Thor apparently decided that was as good a time to introduce that last Asgardian in the room, the one who stood with the huge sword in his hands.

"And this is Heimdall, Gatekeeper of Asgard and protector of the Bifrost. He sees all."

A smirk was over Tony's face and he said, "Hey, what a coincidence. Looks like you've got some competition here, Katniss."

Refusing the respond to the barb, Clint dropped his gaze and said nothing. A few more words were spoken between the demigods but he ignored them, instead focusing on that warmth that had slipped through his skin, on the waves of energy that had skirted between his red blood cells and glided through plasma. He mindlessly raised his hand and rubbed firmly at his chest, the flash of pain welcome as it served to chase away the unnatural feeling. He could feel the echo of it still emanating from his heart, the heat pooling somewhere behind his eyes, and he reflexively replaced his sunglasses, needing to hide behind their safety. The group was walking from the room, Thor's laughter leading to way, and he followed along behind them as casually as he could, feeling Heimdall's gaze on his back. It was only after they were outside of the room and on the long road that he felt he could breathe again.

Then he froze beside the rest of the Avengers, words failing to describe the sense of wonder and shock as he stared across the realm before them. It was whatever version of day Asgard fell under, though the outer edges of the world where they were was dark as night. The castle that dominated the skyline shone like a diamond in the rough and took his breath away. With his vision, he could make out individual buildings and wings, chunks of what he assumed was art floating above ponds, the movement of people distant enough to be nothing but a single speck of dust. Clint could also smell the salt of the sea, the deep burn of roasting meat that made his mouth water, and the sweetness of liquor that was good enough to be called ambrosia. The sounds of the sea crashing over rocks and disappearing into space below was enough to make him smile.

Then reality came crashing back as he realized that Loki still claimed dominion over everything he'd just observed.

Before he could stop it, he felt a haze of white cross his vision and a more familiar burst of magic rushed through his veins, the vivid nothingness in his gaze turning a nauseating shade of blue. Something deep within his mind shifted and he felt he was falling but he couldn't bring himself to care. A plethora of sensations and sounds assaulted him and he closed them off, ignoring everything to fight off the ocean of familiarity that flooded through him.

_So good to see you again, Agent Barton. Have you been well?_

Gasping out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, Clint jerked and opened his eyes, finding himself a good twenty feet behind the rest of the group, Natasha standing five feet away and watching him worriedly. Whipping around, Clint stared at the Gatekeeper who was just a few meters away, sword standing upright in front of him, hands wrapped around the hilt. Desperately trying to bring his breathing under control, Barton barely kept himself from begging the man to let him go home.

Heimdall observed him with his copper irises silently before he quietly said, "Sometimes the best way out is through, Agent Barton."

Still breathing harshly through his mouth, Clint found himself responding, "So you watched Robert Frost for awhile, I take it."

Moving nothing but his mouth, the demigod still seemed to shrug as he answered, "For a human, he had uncommon clarity of thought in some things. You would do well to take his advice."

Finally able to breathe without hyperventilating, Barton nodded slightly and turned back around, the red-tinted world tilting a bit in his gaze before it resettled on its axis. He said nothing as he continued along the bridge, his fingers itching for his bow. The sense of serenity that had descended upon him before had disappeared behind a wave of panic and danger. Everything, from the waves of the ocean to the breeze in the air, now seemed to have a tinge of malevolence to it. It seemed to breathe in his soul that this was Loki's home and it would fight him with everything it could muster.

Turning his gaze from inward to outward in an attempt to balance himself, Clint stared past the people ahead to a large group of horses waiting a few dozen yards away, and as everyone leisurely wandered towards them, Natasha lingered back with Clint.

Her focus was on their surroundings as she asked lowly, "What happened back there?"

The question was all encompassing and something he wasn't sure how to answer. Working some moisture back into his dry mouth, Clint refused to look behind him at the man he knew was still watching him.

"This was a bad idea, Tasha. This was a really bad idea," he whispered, swallowing harshly. She nodded slightly beside him and murmured, "I know. We ran out of options, though. Here you're safe from the Council, the men on the helicarrier, a forceful debrief. They can't get you here."

Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, the crimson tint of his sunglasses making her hair much more vivid than usual, he breathed, "I'm not safe from me, though."

Silently, he screamed, _And I'm not safe from Loki._

She stared straight at him, an unreadable expression on her face, and she nodded slightly.

"I know."

And he knew she'd heard his unspoken words. But there was nothing more to say, and they both knew it. So she shut her mouth and he hefted his bag a little higher on his shoulder, gripped the strap of his duffel a little tighter, and brushed past her towards where the rest of the team was waiting near the horses. He said nothing in response to Tony's quick glance and soft frown, instead content to keep his lips pressed tightly together and his tongue firmly between his teeth. Thor had noticed their lagging and was just finishing up a short explanation of the construction of the wall surrounding the great city to buy his friend time to recover himself.

"And I struck down Hrimthurs with a blow to the head after he revealed himself to be a deceptive Frost Giant of Jotunheim," he finished, and Steve blinked, still coming to terms with the world he'd awoken into, and Bruce just nodded his head a little bit.

"That's nothing. One day I'll explain the bitter war between me and the evil Board of Labor Unions, Malibu, 1999. Much blood was shed and percentages were raised beyond most mere mortals' comprehension. There was no happily ever after with that one," Stark declared, his words making the demigods regard him curiously.

"Labor unions?" Forseti asked quizzically, but before Tony could launch into a tirade about the ins and outs of contract negotiations on the construction of his mansion, Thor raised a hand to call for silence.

"Peace, friends. We have much time to regale each other with tales of conquest befitting our own strengths. But first I am eager to see my father. We shall retire to the castle this evening and feast as the warriors we are," he said to the delighted cheering of his lieutenants.

It was an exercise in hilarity to watch Steve and Bruce attempt to get on their mounts, neither having much reason before to ever ride a horse. Bruce seemed more terrified of the thing than it was of him, and Steve kept following the animal around in a circle with a flustered expression, one foot in a stirrup and the other hopping along the ground. The incident was enough to keep everyone thoroughly distracted while Clint walked to the side of the bridge and stared down at the rapid water below him, trying to get his bearings. He unthinkingly crossed his arms over his chest as the wind tugged at him, pushing him towards the edge, a mirthless warning seeming buried in the air.

He was just about to convince himself he wasn't seeing Loki's face in the waves or hearing his voice in the current when a hand fell on his shoulder, making him jump. He looked up, expecting to see Russian eyes, and was shocked to see a very different face instead.

Giving Barton a small smile while his hand tightened in a friendly way, his fingers missing the burn that was still healing along his collarbone, Tony Stark asked him quietly, "You okay? We've lost you a couple times since we got here."

Clint tipped his head back towards the horses for a moment, the sounds of laughter doing nothing to drown out the cultured white noise that drifted over his mind like broken glass. Natasha was busy strapping their few bags to one of the horses, though her attention was focused on her partner.

Returning his attention to Stark, he tried for defensive normalcy and nodded, "Haven't gone anywhere, last time I checked."

Frowning slightly, Tony didn't pull his punches and said, "You don't have to do that, you know. I get it. If you put me back in Gulmira or in that cave, I think I'd look a little bit like you right now. You seeing him?"

Throat going bone dry, Clint blinked back an unexplained rush of moisture in his eyes and grew increasingly thankful for the thick lenses. He kept his gaze forward and his body tensed so tight he knew he couldn't hide it from the hand that Tony still had on his shoulder. Against all reason and common sense, he found himself answering honestly.

"Not like in the subway or on the rooftop. But this is his home. He's stood here before. He's seen what I'm seeing. And it's like he's still here in my head. I can see him and hear him in everything. He lived in this place and it wants me dead," he said softly, his tongue so heavy he barely found the strength to move it. Tony's grip tightened again, this time almost painfully, and Clint murmured, "The second I stepped out of that chamber it's like this place knew who I was and what I had done to its prince and now it's figuring out how to get me gone."

Glancing over at the usually brash playboy, he asked quietly, "Am I crazy?"

Stark's hand loosened and he shook his head as he responded, "No more than the rest of us, though I'm not sure how great a reassurance that is. I don't know much about all the science being magic being science aspect of this world yet, but I do know that if you're right, if this place is out to get you, we won't let it."

Lips quirking downward into something that only Barton could pull off as a smile, the agent said, "I'm not having paranoid delusions, Stark."

Finally dropping his hand to Clint's arm, Tony pulled him towards the group that was mostly in the saddle behind them as he nodded and said, "Never thought it for a moment, Katniss. Now let's head out of here and get this meet and greet with Thor's daddy over with. I'm dying to see what the food of the gods tastes like."

Shaking his head slightly, Barton let himself be led away from the edge of the bridge, grateful to Thor who had once again distracted the group from his absence with a tale of Asgard.

"So I bashed in his head until he stopped snoring. Not unfortunately, he also stopped breathing, and we managed to finish our journey to Jotunheim," he finished, and Steve, now firmly seated on a horse, just chuckled and commented, "It appears your ready answer is to bash in the head of whatever is annoying you at the moment."

Thor shrugged atop his own steed and nodded as he said, "In my experience, it tends to work. And I prefer to stick with things that work."

Tony took only two tries to get into the saddle of the horse that Thor was holding for him as he added his two cents, "That's an attitude that I attempt to get my employees to follow, but they usually drop it by the third or fourth repeat."

The demigod watched Clint as he walked towards the last horse and swung himself up onto it without much thought or effort, his own eyes tinged a bit with sadness, but he wiped it from his features by the time the archer had turned to look at him.

"It will take us half an hour to get to the castle at a trot, unless you all are willing to ride a bit faster than that," Balder said genially, and while Steve, Bruce, and Tony groaned softly, Clint and Natasha actually looked at each other and smiled a bit, something unspoken passing between them.

Seeing this, Thor gave an answering grin and glanced at his own lieutenants, all but Volstag readying themselves for the ride.

"Very well. Forseti, Balder, Volstag, would you be so kind to accompany my friends to the stables? I feel this is a challenge that must be met," he said as he swung an arm, throwing Mjollnir to the sky, knowing she'd return to his quarters as he ordered.

Bowing his head graciously, Forseti responded, "It would be a delight and an honor, my lord. We shall see you there."

Clint ducked his head for a moment as his horse twitched under him, though it wasn't with the angry, vengeful energy he'd sensed when they'd left the Bifrost chamber. Instead the steed seemed to come to life with his rider's anticipation, giving an animalistic affirmation that it would run to his call so long as Clint gave him his head. Smiling softly as years of circus training and equestrian experiences came back to him, the archer grabbed the reins in loose hands and shifted to urge the horse into the impromptu line that had formed up. As the horses bucked and snorted and silently begged to be let loose, Barton wondered if he would be able to ride fast enough to escape Loki's voice that flowed in the wind.

He figured it couldn't hurt to try.

So when the horses took off, he handed himself over completely to the creature beneath him, responding to it innately, caring for nothing but the freedom that came with the cessation of familiar words in the air. The world passed in a welcome blur around him, his senses discarding the rapidly changing environment in favor of internal noise, and his heartbeat thrummed pleasantly in his head. His breaths jarred from his lungs with every lunge of the muscular animal below him, and wounds that had been long silent in their healing began screaming to life. The smile slipped from his face but he dealt with the pain as long as he deemed necessary, finally grimacing as he pulled back on the reins, yanking the horse back to a gentle canter instead of a full-out sprint. His surroundings came back to him in a familiar technicolor and the soft sounds of his re-emergent ghost echoed once more in his head.

_You thought to try and outrun me once before, Agent Barton. That didn't end so well for you, did it? Remember the dash through the forest in your head, the hunt between the trees, the spring of memories I threw you into when I caught you at last? What I have planned for you will make that seem a child's game._

The horse shifted and shied a bit as the other horses thundered past them moments later, Clint thoughtlessly waving Natasha on before he placed a trembling hand against his left side, directly over the thick scarring that was aching and throbbing.

_I know,_ he thought slowly, wondering if he was indeed insane.

His back burned, the long strips of new skin tight with the horse's movements, and he ignored the creeping agony in his left leg that reminded him the limb was still unused to much stress and strain. Instead, he forced himself to focus on the motion beneath him, the repetition giving him a sense of balance that was destroyed the minute that voice spoke through his thoughts again.

_You won't recognize yourself when I'm done with you, Hawkeye. Not even your beloved Natasha will recognize you._

Forcing himself to breathe in and out and blink when his eyes burned, Clint responded, _I know._

A few moments later, the wind brushed against his face again, this time bringing with it the heat of fire, the smell of ash, and the taste of blood.

_You are going to die here, Clinton Barton._

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Blink.

_I know._

* * *

End Chapter One


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Scars – Chapter Two

Author: Lucky Gun

Beta: SpenChester

Summary: A trip to Asgard to keep Barton out of the Council's reach after the Battle of New York places the agent in more danger than anyone could have ever imagined. Face to face with demigods capable of reading his very soul, Hawkeye is forced to protect his teammates and himself from Loki's growing influence while on the prince's home world. Sequel to Bruises. AU. Contains whump, language, and torture.

A/N: I'm giving you a preemptive apology over the struggling voice so far. When I wrote Bruises, it started as a three part and grew to something far more in-depth than I ever thought to take it. Scars is starting as a massive story in and of itself and I've got legal pads, journals, and comp books full of notes and ideas on this thing (not to mention The Ultimate Encyclopedia of Mythology, which has been a peerless resource in this undertaking). I'm having to rediscover my voice from Bruises for this story. If I can't, then I'll have to awaken a new one. So please give me honest feedback on this thing and let me know if the voice catches and breaks too much. I'm giving it the ol' college try, and I appreciate any and all help. As always, immense thanks to my wonderful beta and best friend SpenChester.

A/A/N: I apologize as well for the slowness of my updates. This story will neither be abandoned nor neglected for anything – my beta will not allow that to happen. However, this is my first time writing and posting a story when I've got a full time job (40 hours a week), a kid in school, a kid at home, the farm, the rental properties, and life in general. Writing usually takes a backseat to my family and my friends, because you can't write about life if you don't live it. So I write on my days off or my short workday evenings only. This limits me a bit, but does give me and my beta a lot of time to flesh out issues, plots, subplots, and dialogue. So hang with me. I promise it will be worth it.

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The walk up to the throne room was an unusually energetic affair, one that would perhaps have been more somber and politic had Asgard's Son not been returning from the aftermath of war victorious. The guards lining the great halls were silent and stoic, but they gave their prince a respectful nod as he passed. He returned them cordially, his smile broad and his features animated but his heart heavy. It was quickly becoming apparent that, while he himself was finding much safety and security in the Realm Everlasting, his archer friend was not so lucky.

Responding in a spirited voice to something Fandral had said, Thor turned slightly and glanced at the Avengers out of the corner of his eye. Stark and Rogers were closest to him, both seeming entirely amused by the conversation Thor's lieutenants were carrying on around him. Banner was walking in between Forseti and Balder, both of who were obviously doing their best to answer the myriad of questions spilling from the scientist's mouth. Behind them was the lithe form of Romanoff, her attention focused on nothing but the man who was walking two paces beside and behind her.

Taking a familiar and longstanding route to the throne room where he knew his father was awaiting them, Thor gave himself over entirely to memory as he regarded his teammate. Though he had little reason to wear the contraptions within the castle, the archer's expressive eyes were hidden behind the deep carmine lenses of his sunglasses. Even as his steps appeared sure and steady, Thor caught the hesitant scuffle that slipped through every few moments, usually when they passed a window that carried through the gentle sea breeze. Unsure whether the man was shying away or moving towards the sensation, he filed that observation away for future thought. His hands were tightly clenched, his knuckles white, and his muscular frame stood out in taut angles beneath his SHIELD jacket.

The cacophonous noise directly surrounding the gathering died as they came around another corner, huge gilt doors before them already pulled open and awaiting their entry. Losing his train of thought on the Hawk, Thor strode forward quickly, breaking away from the group as he hurried across the massive chamber. Coming up and then down the first set of steps, he slowed his feet, his heart beating easily as his eyes found the familiar and welcome sight of his father and king.

Still remembering some sense of propriety, the demigod came to a stop at the base of the second set of steps, kneeling and placing one hand over his heart as he stared up at the throne. Behind him, he was distantly aware of the shuffling of his lieutenants as they fell in behind him, Balder and Forseti giving a standing version of his own bow. He knew the Earthlings were standing still and unsure far behind them, but for the moment he could pay them no heed.

Atop his gilded seat, Odin stared down at his son with no small measure of pride and satisfaction. A staff in his hand eased his move to standing and his florid armor shone in the ethereal light that permeated the room. He stepped down the stairs before him, his one good eye on the audience assembled, and he let his staff slide in his grip, the base resounding loudly against the floor. The sound echoed endlessly in the room and he let the noise die away before he spoke.

"Thor Odinson, you may speak," he said gently, his voice calm and carrying.

Smiling up at his father with a strong will tempered by death and time, Thor answered strongly, "My king, I come from Midgard bringing no spoils of war nor tales of great deeds. I come with nothing but friends gathered and peace restored."

A soft smile passed the older man's face and he chuckled softly.

"If those are not the most cherished spoils of war then I have been misleading our people for some time, my son. Arise, all of you," Odin offered magnanimously, and the Asgardians did so, the overly formal mood of the room dying.

Stepping down from the throne steps, Odin met his son at the top of the second landing, both of them exchanging a warrior's handshake that quickly shifted to a quick but strong embrace. Thor smiled at his father and turned, observing his allies as he waved the Avengers forward.

"Father, these are the ones I spoke of to you. They fight as those of old, with the honor and strength of ages. I have the distinct pleasure of calling them friend," Thor said as the humans stood at the base of the stairs before them.

Odin seemed to observe them individually, his penetrating gaze alighting on each as they introduced themselves for the second time that day.

"Uh, yes sir. My name is Tony Stark, operator of the Iron Man system. And may I say what a pleasure it is to be in the presence of the man who's named my good buddy Thor as future king? That's pretty farsighted thinking," the billionaire said brightly, his smile not dimming in the slightest at the crack at the man's vision.

Indeed, Odin grinned slightly at the words and nodded, apparently one to enjoy the philanthropist's sense of humor.

Clearing his throat, the sandy blond spoke next, "Captain Steve Rogers, United States Army, sir. Thank you for your hospitality, sir."

Waving off the appreciation, Odin responded, "My people owe you a debt for your assistance in bringing this fight to a close, Captain. Anything we have to offer you is not enough, I believe."

Unsure how to respond, Steve just cleared his throat again and nodded, bounced on his toes as he glanced at Banner, the scientist removing his glasses as he returned the soldier's nervous look.

"Doctor Bruce Banner, your majesty. Specialist in gamma radiation," he said, stammering only slightly, and Tony jumped in when he stopped. "Yeah, also turns into a giant green rage monster that is pretty damned good at smashing things. Right?" Staring down the line and glaring at his friend, Banner finally responded through his teeth, "Yes. Thank you for the help, Mr. Stark." Looking back at the monarch, he hurried to assure, "But I have complete control over him now, highness."

Holding up a hand to forestall any further explanations, Odin said, "Be at ease, Doctor Banner. My son has assured me that while your other form is quite powerful and able, you can tell friend from foe. He also told me that you can hold your own in a fight with him at full strength. Is that true?"

Eyes steeling for the possibility of an eviction, Banner nodded slightly. Odin simply returned the gesture and moved his gaze to the woman who was standing next to the scientist. She gave a small nod in deference to the king's status and seemed to think very carefully before she spoke.

"Natasha Romanoff, sire. And my partner, Clint Barton," she introduced simply, tilting her head to the silent man on her right.

Odin passed his focus over the group and all was silent for a moment before his voice carried very softly through the chamber.

"And which is the Hawk who brought about the defeat of Loki, my child?"

The stillness of the group was broken after a few seconds by Tony, who abruptly said, "You know, I don't think that's a fair way to put it, majesty. I mean, Loki is a mass murderer, a sadist, and a war criminal. He wasn't exactly playing by the rules, either."

The staff slammed again into the floor, the sharp sound cutting off Stark's rambling defense. Thor swallowed slightly as he felt his father's uneven emotions swell a bit, anger and sorrow fighting for dominance.

"I know what my son has done, Mr. Stark. Have no illusion that I am ignorant of his crimes. But as a father I must look into the eyes of the destroyer of my son's future."

That same uneasy stillness fell over the team once more, broken after only a few seconds by slow, calculated movement. At the end of the line, Barton dropped his duffel to the floor and slipped his weapons backpack from his shoulder, sitting it next to his partner. He stepped from his place and walked to the front of the group, removing his sunglasses as he did, all conflict and fear buried deep within. Thor stared down at his friend with his own unease hidden beneath the surface, his back tight. Beside him, Odin gave the assassin a long look, his gaze returning to the emotionless orbs staring at him without flinching.

"Agent Clint Barton, level nine operative. Codename...Hawkeye," he said, his voice catching just before his handle, his fingers twitching slightly as though they were missing something.

No words were said for a very long minute, the world hesitating on its turn. Then Odin reigned in whatever he was allowing to bleed through his defenses and his shoulders sagged a little bit.

"I see. As a king, I offer my sympathies and condolences for the Asgardian abilities you were unwillingly subjected to. As a father...I wish you to know I did not raise my son to behave as he has. Loki has long been twisted by his genealogy, the truth of his heritage giving him a sense of entitlement and power. If ever I believed he would attack a defenseless world as he did Midgard, harm another sentient as he did you..."

A muscle in Clint's cheek twitched a bit, something dangerous flaring in his eyes, and he responded, "Not entirely defenseless, sir. And we won."

Cocking his head slightly, Odin asked, "Did _you_?"

There were eons of implication on that statement, and Clint actually dropped his eyes, an edge of panic replacing forced serenity. Behind the group, Balder glanced at Forseti, who frowned openly at the exchange. Then Thor rescued the group from the silence at his father's unspoken order.

"Indeed we did, and we shall toast to that victory this evening at dinner. But first, my father previously expressed interest in an exhibition of your abilities. Perhaps we can do that after I show you to your rooms?" Thor asked, giving the archer a reassuring nod.

Exhaling silently, Clint turned and walked back to his previous position beside Natasha, avoiding her eyes as he replaced his sunglasses and picked up his bags again. He was silent as the grave as they left the throne room, following their demigod tour guide through the palace, the team filing into a massive suite that had several chambers situated around a single common room. Stark voiced his overwhelming approval for the accommodations while Rogers simply continued his awe-filled inspection. Without looking at each other, the two assassins headed for the room farthest from the main entry, habit ingrained. Clint said nothing as he dropped his bags at the base of the huge bed in the middle of the ornate room, ignoring the trembling in his hands and Natasha's quiet slip into the attached bathroom.

He walked to the picture window that was shut against the light breeze and stared out at the panoramic view the high altitude afforded, making no move to address the man that sidled up next to him.

"He harbors you no ill will," Thor said quietly, crossing his arms as he looked out over his homeland, concern for his friend easy to see in his stance.

Beside him, Barton shivered slightly before he shifted in place to hide the movement.

"So you both say," he responded in a subdued voice, and Thor stared at Clint's unmoving features in the window's reflection. "Because it is the truth, my friend. I mourn my brother's loss, he his son's, but we know his heart to be twisted and cruel. He has been sentenced to life imprisonment and there he shall stay until the end of time itself, because we know he will not change. He is lost to us, and you are not to blame for his fall."

Clint snorted softly, shaking his head as he straightened, squaring his jaw.

"You think I would've thought about the consequences of everything when it was happening. That's my job, to see all the variables and outcomes and make whatever shot gives the best possible result. He was trying to commit suicide in the tower when you guys found us, trying to get me to kill him. He was trying to avoid this sentence to eternity." He paused, cocking his head, and he muttered, "Maybe he isn't all that crazy."

Startled, Thor's arms dropped and he took half a step closer to the agent before Barton abruptly said, "I've got to get kitted out. See you in a few."

Taking the dismissal for what it was, Thor finally nodded and exited the room, closing the door behind him, the Hawk's words playing in his head again and again. He stood in the common area quietly, the silence around him welcome for the moment as all the team members prepared for the exhibition that Odin had requested. He well knew the stress of battle and the guilt that could plague survivors of the harshest wars. But the agent's words sounded less defeated and more something else, almost...

Wistful.

Frowning, Thor glanced back over his shoulder towards the room he'd just vacated, equal parts concerned and frustrated. He knew his brother's wounds had cut deep, the unseen ones still weeping, but just how much damage had been done was unknown to all but the one drawing his worry. Truthfully, the agent may not even be aware how devastating the fight had been. That is what drew his annoyance; they were there to reclaim Barton's sense of self, and thus far all the demigod had been able to do was put the man at a disadvantaged state of unease.

Truly, there were days he did not envy his father's eventual abdication.

The doors around him began opening in quick sequence, forcing Thor to put away his musings for another time, and as Tony drew closer to him, the Iron Man suitcase in one hand, he managed to hide his thoughts.

"So, an exhibition match. Sounds like a blast. What are we going to do? Duck hunt?" the man asked loftily as he dropped to one of the many chaise loungers in the room, adjusting the wrist sensors he wore.

Thor nodded as he regarded Bruce and Steve's arrivals, falling back into a lazy stance.

"Something like that, if I understand your language. There will be a few moments of individual showcase and perhaps momentary team combat before we all enter into a battle royale with a conjured enemy. Knowing my father and the entirety of the Asgardian royalty that will be in attendance, it would be prudent to expect some measure of surprise."

Steve blinked as he shifted his shield from one hand to the other, running a hand through his hair. He'd chosen to forgo his hood this time and was wearing his typical blue top with different brown pants that melted into his leather boots. Bruce had left his glasses in his room and was wearing the deep purple pants that Stark had engineered to stretch and then, more importantly, _return_ to their standard size. He hadn't gotten around to creating a matching shirt (or pants in a better color), so he wore a simple white tee shirt and thin shoes. Tony, impeccably dressed in slightly tight dark jeans and his dark gray Blue Oyster Cult shirt, was a picture of relaxation as he shrugged at his otherworldly friend.

"That's a given, considering what you've told us about your people. Battle's a true evaluation of a person's soul or whatever mumbo jumbo you said before," he dismissed, but Thor was quick to correct him. "Do not disregard it so easily, my friend. While our values are not yours, you must abide by their influence while you are here. It is customary that all visitors prove themselves in battle before the king, be they merchants or warriors, and though you are my friends you are not exempt from this law. You must have care how you speak; I take no offense to such words, but few others will be so generous. Walk softly."

The last door opened and Natasha and Clint strode into the room, the red-haired assassin adding, "And carry a bigger stick than the other guy, isn't that right, Mr. Stark?"

Glancing at the woman, the billionaire answered, "Indeed it is, Ms. Romanoff. You ready, Legolas?"

Clad in her usual black bodysuit, Natasha shifted in place, checking her electric gloves and tuning herself to her partner's movements. For his part, decked in a lighter vest than usual and completely identifiable by his compound bow and full quiver, Barton nodded without a sound.

It was lost on no one that he still wore the sunglasses that were quickly becoming a shield in and of themselves.

Thor held his tongue and instead gave the duo a small nod and said, "We are ready, then? The match shall take place in the Hall of Champions, an indoor proving ground and the location for the annual review of the royal guard. It is but a short walk from these halls."

The group looked at each other and there was a sense of nervous excitement as they followed Thor from their suite towards another wing of the palace. The demigod hadn't been lying – it was maybe a five minute jaunt at a slow pace, which they did not take – and they found themselves in a gigantic chamber that made the throne room seem a small closet. It had one main entry and a smaller one partially hidden behind a dais, where Odin, Sif and the Warriors Three, Balder, Forseti, and a few other unknowns were already seated. The rest of the circular room was walled with spectator boxes, the capacity for maybe two thousand filled with velvet-clad dignitaries that nonetheless cheered and screamed at the arrival of their prince. The ceilings were high, reaching almost beyond view, and there were load-bearing columns spaced evenly along the walls. Every piece of stone was covered with mosaics or tapestries showcasing battles from Asgard's history. Within the center of the hall was a simple dirt ring that was much larger than the Olympic Stadium in London, England, though the walls extended far beyond the main arena.

Crossing the center of the dirt expanse in what would seem to be a straggling parade, the Avengers looked around, all at once realizing they were completely out of any imagined depth.

Leading them unerringly to the wide dais, Thor stopped before the polished wooden platform and gave a short bow of his head, a ready smile upon his face. The noise died down as Odin stood from his solid oak chair, a woman beside him standing from her matching seat.

Giving the beautiful woman a warm look, Thor said, "Mother, it is good to see you again. Father, my friends are ready to show you why I have the honor of calling them brothers and sister in arms."

Tilting his head in deference to his son's words, Odin called, "Very well. As I've no doubt you've explained what is expected in these proceedings, I will only clarify the exhibition. Those of you who have weapons of distance, be assured you cannot harm any who spectate, nor can you damage this building, though it will give if you desire it."

Rocking on his heels, Stark muttered, "Don't have to check backstops or worry about bringing down the house. I really need to figure out this whole magic equals science equals magic thing."

Odin nodded to the team and then raised his voice so the entirety of the hall could hear him, a trick of magic or something similar.

"We gather to bear witness to the strength and ability of the Midgardians who staved off the advancing Chitauri upon their home planet. Together, with my son Thor, they are called the Avengers of Earth. Let us see the skill and cunning they possess."

There was half a heartbeat of silence before the crowd erupted into cheers, and the team tuned them out as they gathered around Thor. He gave them reassuring smiles as he called Mjollnir from a pedestal adjacent to the dais.

"My father shall direct each of you to the ring in whatever order he so chooses. Simply enjoy yourselves and consider this naught but a labor of preparation."

Translating the words from Nordic mythology to military terminology, Steve asked, "A training exercise?"

Nodding, Thor responded, "I believe that's what the Man of Fury described it as. Are you ready, my friends?"

Rolling his shoulders, Tony shifted the briefcase in his hand and nodded while Steve gripped his shield just a tiny bit tighter. Clint didn't move or speak, but the muscles tightened just slightly in his neck. Natasha brushed her hair from her eyes and Bruce sighed tiredly.

"Here we go again."

They pulled away from each other and looked at Odin, who gave a simple gesture to Tony. Clearing his throat and tipping a two finger salute to the king, he walked a few dozen feet into the ring and looked around at the crowd for a moment, reveling in the attention, as was his character. Then he abruptly threw the case away from him, the thing sliding along the ground for a dozen feet before an explosion of blue light propelled it off the dirt. It flew upward twenty feet before it started a sudden descent, and Tony wasted no time in sprinting forward. He did a rolling dive into the thousands of moving pieces, the suit closing around him as he rolled again, the helmet forming over his head and Jarvis coming online as he blasted into the air, losing no momentum. The crowd oohed and aahed in all the right places as he did two passes of the hall at high speed, banking tightly and doing a low flyby of the dais. Dust rose from the ground as the royals dove out of the way, Odin actually laughing aloud as dirt settled in his hair. Inside the suit, Tony grinned and came to a hover a few meters from the platform, bowing slightly.

Regaining his seat, the king chuckled and gestured to Bruce, who suppressed a wholehearted groan as he gave a reluctant smile and started wandering mindlessly towards the other scientist.

Tony looked down at him and said, "Well? Get green and mean and not so very lean."

Bruce glared up at him and snapped, "Yeah, well, forgive me for not being suddenly okay with the other guy popping out when there's not even any danger."

Shrugging, Tony replied, "You want danger? All you had to do was ask, Popeye."

Without hesitation, Stark abruptly flew to him and grabbed him by the shirt collar, hauling him fifty feet into the air. Writhing and gasping in his grasp, Banner stared down at the dirt way too far below him, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slick metal suit.

"Oh, you're nuts. You're so nuts. This is so not a good idea, Tony. Come on, put me down," he rambled, stopping abruptly when he realized his error. Immediately freezing, he stared at the blue lights that represented his friend's eyes and shook his head. "No...no no no no no!" With that, Stark said, "You asked for it!"

And immediately dropped him.

There was a collective gasp from the gathered royals as the man fell, Odin and the rest of those seated on the viewing platform leaning forward in their seats. Steve watched the man's descent with more than a moderate amount of poorly concealed panic while Thor raised his hammer and gave a loud war cry. The scientist hit the ground, the vibrations shaking the area, dust and dirt billowing into the air, obscuring everyone's view. A few moments later, a resounding roar echoed through the hall and a massive green mass of movement leapt from the ground and collided with the Iron Man, still fifty feet up. They tumbled to the ground, Tony on bottom until he blasted the thing off him with his repulsors, and Hulk came to a stop ten feet away, smirking and chuffing his satisfaction. Stark just laughed and stood, flipping Banner's other half the bird as Jarvis rambled in his ear about minimal damage being sustained.

There were cheers and screams of approval from the wall to wall observers, and Odin clapped a few times along with the rest of them. Hulk growled and jerked his head towards the dais, and that was as much as an acknowledgment as the royal box was going to get.

The monarch waved a hand to Steve, who let out a deep breath and looked at Thor, asking, "You wanna give me a hand with this, buddy?"

Nodding, the Asgardian gave the man all of two seconds to ready himself before he quickly spun and smashed Mjollnir into the soldier's ready and waiting shield. The force of the blow smacked Rogers across the ring towards Hulk, who just scoffed when Captain America flipped midair and vaulted off his massive shoulder, a move that Steve had copied from Clint's own repertoire that was displayed in New York. He landed on the ground and rolled backwards once before somersaulting to his feet, not even winded by the demigod's blow. Standing straight and tall, his steady breathing disappeared behind the crowd's frenzy at the sight of the man unfazed by their vaunted magical weapons. Pursing his lips in thought, Odin tipped his head in respect to the human's abilities before looking pointedly at Natasha.

Tossing his partner a frown, Clint spoke softly, "Any ideas?" Shrugging, the Black Widow responded naughtily, "I thought I'd give the good captain a soldier's welcome home."

A faint but wicked grin momentarily passed over the archer's face before it disappeared behind his usual stoic mask. Giving him one last look, Natasha sauntered breezily over to Rogers, her sultry lips pouting and his eyes half-lidded. Steve blinked twice and swallowed hard, confusion on his face.

"Uh, ma'am? You alright, Ms. Romanoff?" he asked lowly, abruptly concerned by the alternative personality of his teammate.

But the Russian spy wasn't in the mood to answer, and instead slid up to him with a sly smile, pushing her body against his frozen and terrified form as she pressed her mouth to the skin of his earlobe.

In a puff of air so soft it almost wasn't audible, she breathed, "Sorry in advance, captain."

Without warning, she shifted backwards and abruptly slammed her knee into his solar plexus, wrapped her arms around his throat and vaulted over his doubled-over body. His center of gravity changed as she hauled him backwards by the neck and he rolled over her prepared back. He came to a stop on his knees in front of her, dazed and disoriented, and she gave him a sheepish smile. Steve squeezed his eyes shut, instantly aware he wouldn't like what came next. She dropped and spun, her legs coming up, her weight resting on her forearms as she wrapped her muscular thighs around his head. She shifted her body and threw him behind her, and he landed flat on his back in the same place he started. The entire thing took less than five seconds.

Staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide and breaths coming harder than when Mjollnir had slammed unforgivably into his shield, Steve forced the stars from his vision. Natasha stared down at him, a strange grin quirking her face, and he huffed out a laugh.

"I am...glad...beyond words...that you're...on our side," he choked, and the corners of her eyes crinkled as she extended a hand, helping him up.

There were (what she assumed) the equivalent of catcalls around the ring, and she felt some odd comfort in knowing that men were men, no matter the solar system. Natasha gave Odin a soft bow and he responded with a slight raise of his hand. In the same breath, he turned to Clint, his eyes hard and unreadable, and the archer stepped forward.

Immediately there was a hush over the arena, one different than before; it was obvious that word traveled fast. Unwilling to show its effect on him, Barton moved forward, his steps even and sure, his entire posture as solid as the ground upon which he walked. He reached the center, a few dozen feet from the rest of team, and he ducked his head as the soft murmur of the crowd turned to the unmistakable sounds of disapproval. The Avengers felt like they were once again back in New York, nestled within the kill-box, enemies all around and fighting for their lives.

Or, in this case, one.

Thor turned and looked over his shoulder at his father, a desperate look in his eyes, Odin simply gave a small shake of his head. He was a monarch, absolutely, but his people had a voice and they were welcome to speak it.

Just as Clint was welcome to silence it.

Barton blinked behind his sunglasses, the familiar wave of humiliation and shame pouring through him as he gripped the cool handle of his bow in sweaty hands. Something beyond stage fright filtered through his system, and his world was awash in a painfully well-known sapphire haze. Mindlessly slipping the lenses from his face and tucking them into his vest, Clint raised his head and looked around the hall, eyes tracking everything and nothing, landing on no organic target. Instead, the blue that tinted his view was matched throughout the arena's deco, dozens of images of Loki in profile popping out in his sight.

His breath rapid and shallow, Clint stared down an image of his ghost as a trickster on fire, teasing Rhine Maidens.

Loki cutting a piece of mistletoe.

Loki destroying Otter for a trinket of treasure.

Loki deceiving his brother in the chamber of Geirrod.

Everywhere, blue eyes assaulted his own, the light of the specter's orbs staring at him from tile and cloth, that warmth in his soul and head fanning into a raging pyre. He moved before he was even aware of his motion. Quicksilver in his speed and uncaring as to his audience or his own implications, Clint melted into a stance ingrained in muscle memory and loosed arrow after arrow, pausing just long enough to perform the complex calculations that had long since been reduced to simple instinct. He spun, firing until his quiver whirred empty, and he finally stopped, frozen in time, frozen in thought.

His memory tracked the targets he'd chosen and he ignored the incredibly silent world around him. Thor and Odin stared at the dozens of arrows nestled directly in the eye of multiple images of their disgraced family member. At the far end of the dais, Balder leaned over and whispered something unintelligible in his son's ear, Forseti tipping his head in thought as he stared at the trembling human before them. The justice keeper's focus traveled to his prince, a study in repressed concern, and to the rest of the Avengers to the side, all of them tense and ready to protect their wayward bird of prey from whatever may dare harm him. Behind them, another Asgardian kept dark eyes trained on the Hawk, something deeply calculating in his gaze. Shifting, Forseti caught his king's eye and something silent and immeasurable passed between them as the crowd began to murmur as their own sight took in the man's chosen targets. They did not seem awed by the precision marksmanship at more than three hundred yards, nor did they appear impressed by the human's ability to decipher the history presented on the walls.

In the middle of the arena, Clint swallowed hard and replaced his sunglasses on his face, ignoring the phantom smell of burning flesh and the sound of the missing prince's mocking laughter. His free hand shook slightly and he clenched it into a fist, pressing his tongue between his teeth. Then he knelt, finger tensing against the grip on his bow, and fifty simultaneous explosions rocked the hall. There were gasps and shouts, some women screamed, and half the universe seemed to crumble before him.

Then Odin's assurance held true and the marble stopped shaking, holding itself steady, finally separate from the destruction the archer sought to sow. That same terrified, angry, disturbed silence fell back over the hall. Giving the king no recognition, Clint just walked back to his partner, refusing to look any of his teammates in the eye, his own gaze unfocused and distant behind his crimson shields.

Thor swallowed hard and stared at the agent, his grip tight enough that Mjollnir creaked in his grasp, and he inwardly willed the crowd to respond as they should, as they ought. But it seemed they could not give up the memory of their fiendishly clever prince so easily. So the hall remained devastatingly still.

Until a single set of clapping hands filled the void.

Whirling, Thor stared up at his father, relief and devotion flooding his senses as he watched the rest of the royals pick up upon his kingly gesture, the noise becoming almost immediately deafening. Cheers and whistles entered the fray, and with the silent permission from his lord, Thor joined the team in the middle of the arena, pride and resolution filtering through him. This was his new set of lieutenants, his new charge in life. He had to protect Midgard. And he had to protect those that his world had so grievously harmed.

If only he had the first clue as to how to attempt that.

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End Chapter Two


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Scars – Chapter Three

Author: Lucky Gun

Beta: SpenChester

Summary: A trip to Asgard to keep Barton out of the Council's reach after the Battle of New York places the agent in more danger than anyone could have ever imagined. Face to face with demigods capable of reading his very soul, Hawkeye is forced to protect his teammates and himself from Loki's growing influence while on the prince's home world. Sequel to Bruises. AU. Contains whump, language, and torture.

A/N: We're jumping immediately into the thick of this thing. Why? Cause I'm the writer and I say so. Also, because my beta and I agreed that this is the best way for it to go. Also, give us a shout out if you want a bloopers bonus chapter added at the end of all this, because I swear to God we have enough material for one. And it'd be hilarious.

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The sound of Odin's scepter slamming against the wooden platform echoed dully in Clint's ears, and he ignored everything around him as he soundlessly grabbed his second full quiver from the weapons bag that Natasha had brought with them. He knew she was trying to get his attention but he refused, blocking her out skillfully. He couldn't look at her or the team or the father of the man who'd completely obliterated his mind.

He couldn't look up and see the blue eyes in the walls that still stared at him, unblinking in their superiority.

He'd put an arrow through Loki's eye socket fifty times and he didn't feel different, knew he wouldn't sleep better. He flinched minutely as he stared through his tinted glasses at the dais, unseeing in the knowledge that filled him anew. Loki was still here, in the world and within himself, the entirety of the realm intending nothing but his own destruction.

But that didn't mean he had to go quietly.

Odin was saying something that he should've cared for, but instead Clint just felt wired and tense. He heard something about a group of conjured enemies that knew few falls in battle, about the physical damage restrictions the creatures would have placed upon them by their magical creator. He put his right side to Natasha and his left to Hulk, barely keeping himself from shrugging off the hand that fell lightly on his shoulder.

"Barton? You with us?"

Turning just enough to catch the sight of Steve's narrowed eyes, the agent gave the slightest nod and shifted so he could feel his finger guards tighten against his skin.

"Not hitchhiking this time, captain," the sniper murmured, and the tension on the superman's face faded a little as he responded, "Good. That'd be a long walk home."

Steve smiled at him and returned his attention to the panel of demigods before them. Beside him, Natasha brushed her hip against her partner's leg to get his attention.

"You sure about that, Clint? Seems like you're anywhere but here," she said under her breath, voice pitched to carry to him alone.

Hesitating, he found his mind flying out of the hall and down the stairs of the castle, across the rainbow bridge to the Bifrost chamber, back to Earth, to sense and reality instead of monsters and magic. His left eye twitched fractionally and he was glad she hadn't seen his tell. But he pulled his mind back to himself with a supreme effort of concentration and gave her a sideways look.

"Where else would I be?" he asked rhetorically, a muscle in his cheek twitching when a sudden image of a cave he didn't know flashed across his eyes.

She didn't answer and instead pulled her twin pistols from her holsters and checked the safeties. Clint stared at her for a second longer, forcing himself to breathe evenly through the hot air that seemed to burn his lungs and dry his throat. His view shifted to Odin, who was already focused on him, his eyes boring into the very center of his soul, silently asking the questions that Clint was desperate to answer.

_No, I'm not okay._

_Yes, something's wrong._

_Please, let me go._

But whatever mystical abilities the king seemed to have, he didn't appear to be psychic, because his attention redirected to the far end of the hall, his scepter booming grandly against the floor of the dais. A gleefully expectant hush fell over the gathered crowd as the doors the team had entered through opened once again. Barton didn't turn to look until Tony's low whistle and appreciative sigh got his attention.

"So that's what happens when Bunnies and Angels mate..."

Frowning, Clint turned enough to see what the team would be up against, Natasha's long-suffering groan satisfying his curiosity just as his peripheral caught sight of the newcomers. Walking towards the team was a group of six extraordinarily beautiful, flawless women. Their demigod status was more than obvious in their ethereal beauty, their tall and lithe statures, and their practically luminescent skin. Inwardly, Clint agreed with his partner. Something that beautiful was bound to be doubly dangerous.

"Uh, Thor? Quick question. Fighting...it means the same thing to you as it does to us, right? I mean, we've had difficulty in communication before, so I want to make sure we're on the same page. Fighting is bang, pow, smash..." Steve murmured before trailing off, his face blushing red as he realized he was only digging the hole he was in hole deeper.

His features tight but nonetheless amused, the deity nodded and answer quietly, "Indeed, my friend. There is no error here. Do not be distracted by their beauty. No matter the length and stature of your life in battle, be duly warned: you will never face a more dangerous foe than the one before us. These, Avengers, are the commanders of the Valkyries of Valhalla."

Blinking a few times as the goddesses drew closer at a leisurely pace, Tony stammered, "You're...I mean, you're kidding, right? Yeah, Valhalla, home of the dead warriors, woohoo, but seriously? They're cream puffs, right? We're talking Lingerie League, here."

Chuckling lightly at his friend's denial, Thor assured, "I promise you, Man of Iron, they are more than a match for any of us. They are controlled by my father, to an extent, but otherwise are governed by their own sense of duty. They are not to be taken lightly. Many have underestimated their strength and fortitude in battle. Let us not join them."

Straightening his shoulders and ignoring the twinge of pain that came with the motion, Clint leveled his gaze at the threat, ignoring everything superficial and reaching for that place within him that let him see so much more. Abruptly within his mind, he quickly strode from the innermost room of himself, ignoring everything around him. He knew what he'd see if he looked.

Broken timber.

Shattered marble.

Bloody floors.

He knew he should be concerned, should be terrified beyond reason at the state of disrepair his mind was suffering. Had he more time on Earth to center himself and find the strength to fix some of his broken mentality, he wouldn't be in such a mess. But he couldn't focus on that here, not on Asgard. He could feel the presses at his outermost shields, the light tests on his defenses, the air itself tinted just slightly in a shade he hated with everything he was. Looking at that destruction, feeling the fear, would open the floodgates to everything that was trying so hard to block. So he threw on blinders and pressed forward, convicted beyond himself to a singular truth that was engraved on his heart and hemmed around the edges of his soul.

He didn't matter. His team did.

He trusted nothing other than that truth and the strength it lent him. If he could do nothing else than protect them, even from himself, then he would sacrifice anything he had to for that.

He quickly came to that place that allowed him the view into others; the path was worn into the ground, his feet leading him to that door that locked away this ability. He didn't know where it came from, but he had the feeling that it had always been there, only accessible, for a time, when he'd needed it most. But he'd tamed it, made it something that bent to his will instead of him to it, and turned it into a tool beyond measure.

It's why he had guarded Steve for all those weeks; the man lived with such conviction and belief that he couldn't do any less than protect it to a full awakening.

It's why he had yet to distrust Bruce in any manner, big guy or otherwise. The man was simply _good_ in every way that mattered, and the ways he wasn't just fell to the wayside.

It's why he had given Coulson so many chances to call him off the snipe at that crater in New Mexico, because he'd been able to see what Thor was and could be if he was just given the chance.

It's why he had acquiesced so easily at being held back at the Hammer Expo, at Natasha's assignment to the billionaire playboy; distraction or not, the man longed to do good, burned to do better, and would always rise to the occasion.

It's why he had held his shot, held his breath during her dance, held his hand steady and his voice even when he turned his back on an assassination and turned to recruiting; Natasha had so much potential and was worth far more to the world – and to him – alive than as a blank tombstone.

This same sight let him see the Council's goals, Fury's dedication, and Coulson's sacrifices. It let him see every target before he got to them, intent and rolling through their movements and in the shift of their eyes. He could read people like a book, and even though each language was different, he knew every translation. Call it intuition, instinct, or a hunch, but he could count on one hand the number of times he'd been wrong.

Shaking himself away from the line of memories his thoughts were taking him towards, Clint reached the door that held his sight. It was strong and unmarred, solid in the power it held behind and the ability it could bring forth. He opened it with a heartbeat, the frame of the door vibrating for a moment before he was enveloped in pure white light, warm and clear and free.

When he opened his eyes again, Clint was back in the arena, his team around him, his gaze on the women still coming steadily closer. He had a microsecond to prepare himself to look beyond the beauty, beyond the surface, and see the intent beneath the skin.

And then the women weren't so beautiful to him anymore.

What he saw was a mass of grotesque goliaths stumbling towards him with saliva running down their jaws and cat eyes glowing a demon red. Tanned skin had given way to gray, craggy hide, scars and wounds festering and weeping. Their battle prowess and ability oozed from their pores in waves of golden dust that turned black as it touched the ground. They were every bit the hellish angels the history books made them out to be.

Jerking, Barton put his left shoulder against Hulk's chest, an involuntary shudder working its way down his frame, his eyes darting over the approaching threat. Beside him, Thor turned towards the archer, alarmed, as Hulk looked down at man with a grunt of confusion. It was obvious his teammates saw nothing but the women as they pretended to be.

"Are you fit, my friend?" the demigod asked quickly, taking half a step towards him.

Barton squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head hard, trying to dispel the image, and when he looked again, the same monstrous creatures were still walking towards him, their movements a little slower than they'd been. Refusing to acknowledge the slight tremble in his hand, Clint reached up and tipped his sunglasses down a bit, staring at the Valkyries over the tops of the red lenses. They glared back at him, jaws agape, maws reaching for him with so much eagerness he could almost feel their acidic breath on his skin.

Then that voice came from within, the honey sweetness flooding his senses with sapphire pain.

_A gift to you, Agent Barton. Your sight could use some expanding, I thought. See the fearsome beasts we have here on Asgard. You thought I was the worst my people had to offer? Oh no, Hawk. You will long for the simple truths I can give when this world is done with you. When you are stripped to the core of yourself, your soul plucked from the bones of your heart like carrion to a vulture, you will beg for something as benevolent as I. You will plead for it. You will beg. And you will kneel._

_Didn't I promise you that, Agent Barton? You will kneel._

_You will always kneel._

His throat locking as his vision tinted a hazy blue, Clint blocked out his teammate's worried look and the hand at his shoulder that was so feminine yet so strong. Even his mental reply was silent, a roll of static against a wave of nauseating waves crashing against his mental barriers. He was distantly aware of the anxiety level rising throughout the group surrounding him but completely unaware of the words they spoke. Likewise, he was equally unaware of Balder and Forseti exchanging a concerned look, an unspoken conversation floating between them like a cloud between the earth and sun. The brown eyed man behind them, clothed in high finery, leveled a cold glare at the archer, the usual warmth present in humans completely absent in the demigod. His black leather clothing did nothing to hide the myriad of weaponry on his person, from the bow over his back to the sword at his side and the dagger in his belt. While many of the other deities were busy appreciating their approaching warriors, this demigod in particular was studying the struggling agent with an intensity that predators usually had for their unsuspecting prey. Whatever his concern, though, it apparently wasn't enough to voice, because he held his tongue even as Odin leaned forward on his throne, a frown on his features.

"Avengers? All is well?"

His voice overrode the freeze that had descended upon Clint's mind, the cobalt taint melting with the power in the king's voice. Coming from his unbidden stupor with a slight jolt, the agent let a breath of time pass before he assessed himself.

And he determined that he was _pissed._

If he was honest with himself, he'd admit that he was beyond that point, actually. He was hovering somewhere between unhinged and insane. He could feel Loki washing against his consciousness, trying to drown him beneath the ocean of magic influence that existed somewhere between reality and mystery. The constant reminder of the shattered framing and cracked stars in his mind was sapping the rapidly draining stores of mental health he'd held in reserve.

Knowing that and subsequently finding himself uncaring, he let a slightly psychotic grin cross his face and flipped his sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose. They weren't Loki or the Chitauri, certainly, but these ugly bitches were good enough targets for him. He'd fire his arrowheads into their skulls, use the sinew holding them together as a whetstone for his knives, and he could at least pretend to rid his mind of the chromatic colors washing out his thoughts.

Ducking his head for a moment and finding himself back in his mind for half a thought, he caught a glimpse of the central hall, bowing and bending with the red waves of anger that spread from his inner sanctum. Then he was in the arena once again, the rage still seeping from him, and he tightened his fingers around the bow in his hand, his other clenching tight against the finger guards he wore. Natasha could feel the change in him, he knew; the way she took a step physically closer while mentally distancing herself betrayed that. Hulk had a smirk that showed he had found a willing companion in fighting angry. Tony was behind Clint, but the archer could sense the worried disapproval the man was emanating, the portable version of Jarvis yammering in his master's ear about blood pressure and heart rate, no doubt. Thor looked like he was half tempted to call off the match, but Steve waved him off.

"Barton? You all right?" the captain asked, and Clint did nothing to diminish the grin that was still making him look a little less sane than usual when he turned to the team's leader and responded, "Hell yeah, sir."

For his part, Steve seemed to understand the man's need to release some anger, to feel something other than uncertainty, so he just nodded and murmured, "Don't do anything stupid, Hawkeye; that's an order."

A slight nod was all Clint gave and all the soldier expected to get, so he turned back to the dais and, ever the diplomat, gave an apologetic bow to the king and said, "We're well enough, sire. Thank you."

Thor hesitated another second before he glanced over his shoulder at his father and gave a soft smile, his own answer to the question within the question. Odin frowned slightly but nonetheless returned the gesture and raised his voice to cover the room once again.

"Thus commences the test of skill, strength, and fortitude between the Avengers of Earth and the Valkyries of Valhalla. Let this be entered into the annals of our history: humans fighting with Asgard's Son against the best of our warriors. Let it begin!"

The moment the lord's staff hit the wood of the dais, the crowds screamed, the Avengers stiffened, the world erupted in a cacophony of noise and motion, and life began to blur. Clint and Thor were the only ones who were unsurprised when the 'Angels' abruptly turned nasty and began to change; Barton already saw their true selves, and Thor had seen it before. But the team responded quickly and easily, rolling into movement and strategy as the women turned into gargoyles, their high pitched howls joining the roar of the crowds. Four of them took to the skies while the other two dropped to all four clawed feet, pressed their ragged wings to their backs, and ran towards the team like wild animals.

Thor wasted no time swinging Mjollnir in a long-familiar motion and flying into the air, tracking after one of the faster Valkyries. Tony was muttering something under his breath about reasons to remain faithful to Pepper while blasting after one of the flying creatures, his palms glowing brightly. Hulk roared something unintelligible and leapt into the sky with graceless abandon, grabbing a passing gargoyle from the air and dragging it to the ground kicking and screaming. Steve, Natasha, and Clint put their backs to each other, Clint trusting the duo to take care of the two on the ground while he tracked the last one that was determined to stay airborne.

The sound of Steve's shield ringing through the air and the report of Tasha's pistols echoed in Barton's ears as his fingers danced over the grip of his bow and his quiver whirred to life. A split second later the bolt was nocked and his eyes were tracking just ahead of his target. Had he been any less hateful and rage-filled than he was, he would have looked to disable. Instead, he was lining up his shot to the Valkyrie right in the neck. He half remembered what Odin had said about the things being unable to wound them, but he doubted the team was expected to obey the same restrictions. These things were the protectors of the souls of demigods; he seriously doubted anything he did would hurt them. Still, the fact that he was tracking the pulsing vein in the thing's throat should have sent the moral wheels of his mind into overdrive.

Instead, all he felt was a release of the heat behind his eyes as the bolt flew from his string, the fletching skimming some exposed skin on his wrist and drawing a thin wisp of blood. Perhaps sensing the attack through demigod magic, the Valkyrie banked just enough to make the Hawk miss his mark. The arrow bit through the air directly in front of the thing's face instead, making it jerk back mid-flight and hiss at him.

Grinning slightly despite the lack of accuracy, Clint muttered, "Now that I have your attention..."

He didn't let the last miss faze him as he fell into repetition, pulling another projectile and loosing another shot, the sharp fletching pulling another line of red from his skin. The rush of endorphins from the fight and the slice of pain broke through enough of his anger that he felt adequately scolded when the creature simply swatted the arrow from the air and gave a scream of anger. Tasha's repeated gunfire was a needed grounding force in his mind and he used the sound to steady himself. He was vaguely aware of Steve leaving the two agents, sprinting towards one of the grounded creatures, and Clint glanced over his shoulder to catch his partner's eye. The rest of the team was getting pinned down, and he could help. It might be the only thing he could do right anymore. She looked at him just long enough to get the message before she nodded her consent, tossed him a wry grin, and went back to tracking her own target.

Bracing himself, Clint exhaled sharply before abruptly racing out into the arena, one ear listening for the Valkyrie that was hunting him while he looked for his other teammates, taking in the status of the team in an instant. Jogging across the dirt floor, he pulled a bolt with an acidic tip and sent it singing through the air towards Tony, trusting Jarvis to alert the man to the danger. The AI did his job and Tony whirled in midair and put the monster he was grappling with in the arrow's path. The small detonation was enough to blast the Valkyrie to the ground, leaving it alternating between hissing and whimpering as its back leaked smoke.

Responding to the billionaire's light salute with a small nod, Clint continued his jagged path across the arena, steadily heading towards where Hulk and another enemy were rolling in the dust. His eyes stayed on the sky and his attention abruptly latched on Thor. The man was pressed against a column fifty feet in the air, his hammer ineffectually hanging from his wrist. The Valkyrie that had him had both clawed hands around the demigod's throat, and the man looked like he was torn between unleashing all manners of hell on the creature his father had summoned and pulling his punches. Rolling his eyes behind his glasses, Clint grabbed another bolt and let it fly, hitting the Valkyrie perfectly in the head. The force of the discharge sent the two supernatural beings flying apart, and Barton paid them no more mind.

His primary concern was getting to Hulk, who was being ganged up on by his own attacker and Steve's, who'd apparently found better game. A sound caught his ear and he loosed his arrow just as he realized what it was. Vulture-like, his own Valkyrie swung from the sky and snatched the bolt from the air, whipping around and flinging it back at him with lightning speed. Blinking and seeing the arrow's path with his inner sight, Clint fell to his knees and slid forward as he leaned backwards. The arrowhead scored a deep line under his right eye, eerily familiar to the line Natasha had left on him in the quinjet before New York. This one was deeper, though, and he could feel the flush of blood slip down his cheek. A familiar throbbing in his ear proved it had cut the edge of it, too.

Jerking to the side with the shock of the pain and rolling to his feet, Clint began sprinting in the opposite direction, taking just long enough to unleash an arrow at the two Valkyries on Hulk, the projectile slipping between his monster's fingers. The shot sufficiently distracted the two that the changed man was able to get the upper hand, and the agent turned his attention towards getting back to his partner.

As he ran, his fingers came up to his cheek and brushed at the crimson heat soaking his face, the burn reigniting with his touch. Beside him, he was abruptly aware of Captain America's sudden appearance, his face worried and his features hard as he took in the blood that was running down Clint's face and dripping from the lobe of his ear.

Shouting over the sounds of Hulk's angered roaring and Tony's suit zooming overhead, Steve said, "I thought they weren't supposed to be able to hurt us!"

Shrugging and ignoring the spiking headache that was thundering through his head, Barton drew closer to where Natasha had just finished blinding two monsters with help from a flash grenade and Thor.

"It's fine, Captain. Drop it," Hawkeye snapped as he futilely wiped at the blood, frustrated with his obvious mortality in the sea of relative immortality.

It was a testament to the preoccupation the Russian assassin felt with the fight that she said nothing about her partner's injury. Instead, she just gave him a nudge with her shoulder when he put his back to her, a 'welcome back' hidden in the motion. Steve paused with the two for a moment to take stock, the overbearing screams of the crowd making it a little difficult to concentrate.

Mentally finding no difference between the high-octane arena and a silent shooting range, the archer knelt to the ground to brace himself as he began firing arrow after arrow at every target he could track. His attention was finally redirected to the Valkyrie that had taken an intense interest in him, and he let a particularly forceful shot free of his bow. The scalpel-sharp tip sliced through the creature's wing and pulled a blob of blue blood from its veins. Frowning when the monster abruptly banked and began diving towards them, Clint reached for another arrow while turning towards his teammates.

"Scatter!" he snapped, and while Tasha jumped and immediately rolled away, Steve took a half second to look at the incoming threat.

That split second was all it took for it to be on top of them, arms reaching, jaw sagging, teeth glistening. It swooped in, legs forward, claws flashing. Seeing its intent in the arch of its back, Clint abruptly body-slammed Steve into the ground, his hand reaching for the knife under his archer's glove while the man beneath him coughed into the dust. Then there was something hot and heavy on top of them, long nails gripped his vest, and then the agent was airborne.

The world spun crazily on its axis as the sound of the thing's supersonic scream disoriented the archer for a handful of heartbeats, his eyes finally catching the view of the ground far below, the ceiling fairly close, and the shocked faces of the spectators. Grunting and reaching for his attacker with one hand, his other gripping his knife tightly, Barton abruptly made a deadly slice towards the Valkyrie's chest. There was another scream in his ear and he winced as he was abruptly dropped. He fell for ten feet before he was grabbed again by the same gargoyle; this time he was grabbed face to face. The jarring stop made Clint smash his face against the creature's exposed and sharp collarbone, busting his lip. The rush of blood down his throat almost came back up as the Valkyrie shifted and slammed him against the ceiling of the arena. They slid along the marble blocks for a few yards before the talons in the thing's wings caught on a few decorative cracks and gripped tight. They hung for a minute, Barton's wrists and knees held against the ceiling by the Valkyrie's flexible hands and feet.

Wincing against the horrific monster he was so close to, attempting to figure some way to escape, he was almost shocked to find words hidden in its guttural pants.

"You...will...kneel."

Mouth opening in a silent gasp, Clint watched a single drop of his blood slip from his lips and fall down into the thing's mouth. Then its eyes, its demon red eyes, closed for a second as it tasted his life force.

When they opened again, they were an icy blue.

There was a lifetime inside a heartbeat as a thrall of terror and fear froze Barton in his tracks. His hand loosened around the hilt of his knife to the point of ineffectualness and his bow hung idly from his fingertips, forgotten. The thing gave such a familiar smirk, such a shockingly haunting and beautifully cultured smile, that Clint couldn't breathe.

_I have found you, Hawk. Stop hiding from me. It's so difficult to destroy you when you insist on running. Here is a taste of what is to come, Agent Barton. Remember that you deserve so much more._

_So much more._

The creature moved with such speed that it could only be magic, but Clint saw it coming in slow motion. The Valkyrie released his right hand, his arm still held against the marble by some supernatural force, then it was grabbing at his side, directly opposite where he'd been injured in New York. Its claws sunk through vest, skin, and muscle. What passed as its thumb tore through his Kevlar like it was butter, punctured his skin with a wet pop, and sunk through his muscles with something beyond ease. Its other four fingers wrapped around his side and repeated the motion deep near the small of his back, its massive hand spanning the distance comfortably. Tissue tore, veins ruptured, and red coated everything.

Agony and pain warped through Barton's mind but he couldn't move, couldn't speak, his eyes locked on the thing's sky-colored eyes and self-satisfied smile. Its hand twitched inside him, the rush of heat telling. The hold had a sort of sick intimacy to it that reminded the archer of far too much, and then the Valkyrie wearing Loki's face pulled back its hand, coated in gore. Breaths coming faster as his body rebelled against the fresh wound, Clint watched with perverse fascination as the monster brought its stony hand to its mouth and began delicately licking the blood from its sharp nails.

Hot moisture began slipping from his side, the sensation a far old and very unwelcome friend. A steady stream pooled in his vest and then a few drops fell towards the ground, descending at a slow rate in the agent's view. When they hit the dusty floor, dirt swirling and rolling with their impact, so far below, the entire arena froze. Through whatever otherworldly sense the demigods possessed, they all hushed, Odin standing abruptly, his face upturned with horror and shock plain on his face. The rest of the royals surged to their feet, Balder and Forseti leading the way, the cold Asgardian behind them giving a slight scowl. With the hall silent and still, it was easy to hear Clint's rough and pained breathing from the ceiling to the ground. The other Valkyries stopped when it reached their flat ears, heads swiveling, a litany of words spilling from their gnashed lips. The Avengers, fighting but pausing at the strange change in the environment, followed their view. Natasha's quiet denial was loud enough to reach Barton, the level of pain in her voice matching the fear in his heart. There was a moment of silence.

Then time unfroze, and Clint could speak.

Better than that.

He could scream.

"_Goddamn_ it, I will _not_ kneel!"

Surging into motion, he gripped his knife tight and plunged it into the thing's right eye, its howl and a spurt of blood breaking whatever was left of the thrall it had over him. Snarling and reaching at its face, the creature grabbed Clint's wrist and spun, throwing him head over heels towards the ground. Shouting as his side burned with the motion, the agent didn't see the other Valkyries until they were abruptly on him. They swarmed the man, kicking and biting and hissing with indignation. His sunglasses protected his eyes and turned his vision far more red than his anger and pain were able to. The Valkyries' eyes, all of them blue, glared at him with outrage. Then they were gone, puffs of dust that vanished in the wind, and Clint closed his eyes against the rush of pain that emanated from every inch of skin.

_Father will never tire of interfering, it seems. Rest well, Barton. I will see you again soon. I promise._

Darkness began to pour through the man and he let himself get lost in it, one thing sticking out in his mind. He'd known it then and he doubly knew it now.

He was going to die here.

* * *

End Chapter Three


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Scars – Chapter Four

Author: Lucky Gun

Beta: SpenChester

Summary: A trip to Asgard to keep Barton out of the Council's reach after the Battle of New York places the agent in more danger than anyone could have ever imagined. Face to face with demigods capable of reading his very soul, Hawkeye is forced to protect his teammates and himself from Loki's growing influence while on the prince's home world. Sequel to Bruises. AU. Contains whump, language, and torture.

A/N: Ooh...I apparently haven't grown any less evil than I was when I wrote Bruises. In fact, I think my beta would attest to the fact that I've grown slightly more whump-loving. And at the end of chapter three I've already gotten to the crunch. Fantastic! Keep up with the reviews, people, and I'll keep up with the story. And yes, this story will be kept up with and not abandoned for anything. Not for my full time job, 500 acre farm, six rental properties, two kids, one husband, or even an upcoming surgery. Can you tell I'm serious about my writing? Questions should be directed towards my mailbox in a PM. And now...on with the show!

* * *

Tony wasn't exactly sure what happened. One minute he was fighting the strange granny-skinned horror-movie reject, pissed as hell that the thing was scratching his paint, and the next the entire place had gone silent and still as the grave. He almost wasn't concerned until Jarvis' sensors began blaring.

"I believe Odin's restraints have failed, sir. It appears Agent Barton has been heavily injured. He's located at your three o'clock, at the apex of the ceiling."

The second Tony looked was the same second everything started moving again. Blood geysered from whichever bitch the archer was after, Clint got thrown, and the royals all around started screaming. The Valkyrie on Stark said something that he vaguely translated as 'oh hell, now I'm gonna kill something' before it took off towards Clint's falling form, the other turned women doing the same. The mass of moving, growling, hissing creatures covered his teammate in the space of a few heartbeats, long enough for the AI in his suit to pipe up again.

"Sir, Agent Barton is falling at a rate of twenty seven feet per second and will reach terminal velocity in ten seconds, with impact in twelve. As you're the only Avenger capable of sustained flight, I believe your intervention will be necessary."

The flush of worry that had washed through the man spiked as he followed the computer's advice. Should he have been surprised? Probably not. Forgetting the fact that Barton was a trouble magnet, nothing in the world had been the same since that damned cube had turned Steve into a Capsicle and New York into a war zone. The frustrating as hell part – that the Avengers were both incredibly lucky in and not – was that, out of everyone in the world that was able to grab a lethal weapon and do some damage, they were the ones who found themselves on an alien planet participating in what amounted to a WWE match.

Still, Tony decided as the monsters he was tracking disappeared in a mist of dark sand, it could always be worse.

Drawing closer to his teammate, the superhero immediately changed that opinion.

The blood he could see coating Clint came from a slice on his face, a few on his arms, and one hidden beneath his vest. If the red flashing of his HUD was an indicator of anything, what he couldn't see could definitely hurt him. Behind the crimson sunglasses the agent wore, his eyes were closed.

"Dammit..." Tony growled as he flipped over and matched his speed with the other man's.

He had to trust Jarvis to make the necessary corrections in his trajectory, as the agent was spinning as he fell limply towards the ground. The loyal AI did just that, and, an altimeter rapidly counting down at the top of his display, he reached for his friend.

The second the cold metal of his glove touched Barton's upper arm, the man's eyes snapped open and he immediately lashed out at the perceived threat, the knife he still held glancing off the armor's chest plate.

"Jesus! Easy, Legolas!" Tony snapped as he yanked his hand back, an alarm sounding in his speakers.

For his part, Clint looked just about as out of it as he had while unconscious, so Stark wasted no more time and snagged the man's vest with sure hands, holding tight even when the agent struggled. He righted them none too gently, his foot repulsors firing strongly to slow them, and he let his visor slip open as they drew closer to the ground.

"Easy, Barton. It's fine, man. I've got you," he soothed quietly, relieved when awareness began to filter through the other man's blue eyes, equally pissed when he saw shame mixed in there.

The second their feet touched the ground, Clint smacked Tony's hands away with a wild wave of his hand and he staggered away from the metal suit a few feet before dropping to his knees. The other Avengers were gathering rapidly, and Tony glanced first to Odin, then to Thor, the stern look on his face coined 'someone's getting fired' by Pepper. Oh, hell yes. Someone was getting their ass in a sling. He just wasn't sure which one he should start with. Thinking for a second, he decided it could be all the supernatural bastards that had put them in this situation.

Starting with those fucking Valkyries.

* * *

Natasha fairly sprinted towards Tony as he came to a steady landing, a shiver coming up her spine and vibrating in her fingers as she saw her partner lurch to the side, hit the ground, and bow his head. The rush of cold needles in her fingers ebbed slightly when he almost immediately pushed himself to his feet once again, shaking his head sharply.

She had almost convinced herself that he was only loopy until she saw the blood.

The instant she saw it she knew there was an uphill battle ahead of her. There was nothing to do here but fight him every step of the way, and even injured, he'd be metaphorically armed to the teeth. Then his hand crept to his side, a bead of blood dripped from his jawline, and she steeled herself.

A second later, she was glad she did.

She was maybe five feet behind him when he shook his head again and stumbled backwards. Whether he knew she was there or not, he didn't put his hands out to catch himself. To keep him from falling flat on his ass, she jumped forward and braced him carefully, one hand between his shoulder blades and the other snaking around his chest. His momentum took them both down to the ground, her knees pulled small clouds of dust from the ground, and she swallowed hard as she heard his harsh panting up close.

"Easy, Clint. You're gonna be all right," she murmured, the complete deja vu of the situation embedding itself in her psyche.

He said nothing but groaned lowly, his hands pressing tight against his gut, and it took her a moment to realize the front of her thighs were painted red. Glancing down, she saw the trickles of crimson roll slowly down his Kevlar.

"Dammit," she swore, her teeth worrying the edges of her lip, but Clint surprised her by turning slightly and giving her a strange look with an upraised eyebrow. "Watch the language, Tasha. Overwatch would have my hide if he knew you were picking up habits from Stark."

Her lips quirking only a bit, Natasha snapped lowly, "He'd be more worried about the pieces of your hide that are missing. How deep did it get you?"

Shaking his head once more and apparently finding a sense of balance for the moment, Clint allowed himself the single moment of weakness he never thought he deserved and leaned back against her as he breathed through a wave of pain.

That one moment was all the opening the demigod on the dais needed.

"Taking an unearned rest during an exhibition is highly disrespectful, human. Or is that short display all a mere mortal can muster before he is bound by the better of his comrades?"

Whipping her head up at the cold voice, Natasha fixed shocked eyes on the dark-haired deity on the dais, trying and failing to place him in their earlier introductions. Odin did her work for her, though. Turning to the outspoken royal, the king looked suitably peeved.

"Suvid! You know these proceedings have not gone as planned. Be well reminded that only the King may determine when a rest within an exhibition is unearned. Brief though it may have been, the battle told me much of what I may learn from these warriors. You presume too much to believe your view is the only one to be bettered here."

Tipping his head up with a frown, the demigod Suvid sniffed, "They've no honor and no battle strategy, Allfather. Worse, they are led by a man who steps out of sync with his fellows. The others are a beast, a woman, and a showman. And they are laughingly guarded by a hawk so pinioned I doubt he remembers the feel of the wind in his feathers. These are who Odinson calls friend?"

Here he snorted, shaking his head as he turned his gaze towards the team again, his chocolate eyes resting accusingly on Barton, his countenance lifting to a smirk when the agent flinched at his words.

"I am disappointed."

This time the human couldn't stop the shiver from rolling through his body as he turned his head, his eyes darting over the landscape, falling on nothing. Natasha had seen him do such a thing before, but she never knew what he was searching for. No matter how much they shared with each other and how much they trusted each other, there were so many nightmares he held at bay with one arm and an easy smile. The thin lines beside his eyes when he gave her that look, that haunted, accepting look, always cut like knives across her heart. She often found herself praying to a God she didn't know for her partner's secrets.

She wondered if she'd ever know any of them.

And she knew she never would.

Pinioned and bound and feathers torn asunder, her Hawk still flew straight and true no matter the storm, and history was simply one more front to weather. She would never be able to survive those gales without his sheltering wings, and she simultaneously found herself cursed and thankful for such a gesture.

Similarly, she found herself both awed and pissed when the man leaning against her abruptly shifted so that she was taking none of his weight. She saw the blanching of his skin and the fine tremble in his hands as he moved, and that's what awed her. And she knew the path of his thoughts and the fear in his heart.

And that's what pissed her off.

Her own fists clenching into balls of straining tendon, Natasha forced herself to say nothing as Clint struggled lightly to get to his feet, his only tell the microscopic twitch of his cheek as he turned his head back towards the dais. She knew that muscle spasm so well. It had first made an appearance in Budapest, when he'd knelt before her with blood on his face and determination in his eyes and made her a promise.

"_I'm going to get you out of here, Tasha. You hear me? I'm gonna get you home."_

He had done exactly that, arguably at the cost of his own sanity. He'd never been quite the same since then, his personality shifting so subtly to a darker sort of midnight. She wondered what part of himself he'd lost in the fight to get them out of there. But while Hungary had a part of his mind, Loki had part of his soul.

And she'd be damned if she let it go without a fight.

* * *

Bruce was running through the litany of wounds the archer may have while Hulk inhaled deeply to search for the disappeared gremlins. They were gone in the wind and beyond discovery, he knew, but that didn't stop Hulk from trying. He stopped after a few moments, though, and began growling lowly when he smelled blood.

Truthfully, the copper taste that coated ones tongue in the presence of that much blood had always made Bruce a little uneasy, even before his accident. Maybe it was the idea that so much of a person's life could be outside their body like that without death being so painfully inevitable. Maybe it was because he could still put the taste and color together when thinking about his mother's beautiful, fair, bruised skin. Maybe it was because he had never quite figured out what blood really was as Hulk other than a symptom of anger and failure.

Whatever it was, it pissed him off just about as much as the snarky creature on the dais.

Before the thought could really formulate and become a solid, tangible thing, Hulk had already moved. He was a blur of green against brown, and Bruce fervently hoped he wasn't about to create a cross-species, inter-cultural war by playing ping pong with a deity's head. Whether through his own desires or Hulk's tempered reaction due to the Avengers, he didn't go after the demigod on the platform so blatantly attacking part of his pack. Instead, he put himself between the wooden stage and the rest of the team with a roar of anger, quickly followed by a bellow of pure outrage.

Leaning back in the hidden spandex space pocket in his mind that he made his when Hulk made his body something other than human, Bruce took in the scattered reports he was getting from the hormonal and chemical signals of the humans.

Restrained understanding – that had to come from Thor, he reasoned, hating but knowing too well the governmental and personal line the demigod was having to tap dance.

Politically correct anger – that was Steve without a doubt, he knew; the superman's morality and guidelines were branded into Hulk's palate like sweet and sour chicken.

Indignant fear – Tony, he decided after a moment, the depth of the man's apparent connection with the archer a surprising and soothing balm to the tremors in his own soul.

Horrified outrage – he knew it was Tasha before he even caught the sense of red hair and flashing eyes; he knew better than to expect anything but protection from the woman.

Then there was something he wasn't quite expecting. He'd been tasting restraint, anger, fear, and pain from everyone else, his own rage tainting everything a deep green, acidic taste. But there was a mellow, pale, slightly burnt scent worming its way across his senses.

Jolting forward, Bruce recognized it immediately: defeat laced with some sort of strange magic.

Hulk matched the taste the same time he did, the green monster turning to look at the now-standing agent, a swarm of confusion and general pissed-off-edness clouding his thoughts. It was just like New York, back in the tower, when Clint had an arrow to Loki's head and still tasted like he'd destroyed everything he ever had to fight for.

And that's when Bruce realized that nothing was as it seemed and they were probably all in extremely real danger.

Unsurprisingly, the archer most of all.

* * *

Steve did little more than shift in place when Hulk leapt forward, the wind of his arrival stirring a few stray strands of his hair. The uneasiness in his heart matched the frown on his face, and he did nothing to hide it. He knew that, as the team's unofficial but mostly official leader, he was responsible for protecting the team from the things that wanted to hurt them or otherwise went bump in the night (politicians included).

How he was supposed to fix _this_ though, he had no idea.

Scratch that; he had less than no idea.

A diplomat from another world was busy filleting the character of one of the team, and all Steve could hope was that maybe he was still dreaming. After all, that would make more sense than what was currently going on.

Recognizing reality for what it was, though, and knowing and hating that certain things weren't going to change, he thought it best to speak up.

"Excuse me," he said strongly, fighting the urge to clear his throat when all those otherworldly eyes landed on him so quickly. Holding one hand up in an attempt to silence Hulk's continued grunting, Steve said, "I think this can wait, your majesty, ladies and gentlemen, until we're sure whatever threat the Valkyries posed is gone."

Tony's incredulous snort was almost hidden beneath the answering whine of his repulsors, and Steve tossed the man a warning glare out of the corner of his eyes. They couldn't afford to be the bad guy, not here, not so outnumbered, and definitely not while down a teammate.

"I think it would be prudent for us to return to our quarters for the time being, Highness," he added, cocking his head slightly towards the dais in deference to the royalty standing there. "We can discuss this in greater detail after you've had time to investigate further."

Odin stared him down for a moment before a slight shift of his shoulders betrayed his acquiescence to Steve's request. Nodding in response, the soldier turned back towards the team, words and orders in his mouth dying before they even reached his teeth. He thought he'd seen just enough craziness since he'd awoken to never be shocked by anything anymore. After all, magic and aliens and excessive levels of advanced technology had already desensitized himself to pretty much anything the world could throw at him.

Or so he thought.

But one look behind him just proved one thing: nothing in any world, discovered or still unknown, will ever compare to the everlasting and ever-changing complexities of man.

Clint was standing, his bow in one hand, his other still gripping his assassin's blade, his ruby glasses forward and shining wetly in the light. The crimson that was still coating his side and snaking down the black of his cargo pants was being eaten hungrily by the dry dust at his feet, the muddying effect almost hiding within his own shadow. The drops of blood that were still trickling steadily down his cheek from the gash below his eye curled around his jawline and dripped silently to the ground. His face, pale and drawn though it was, showed such an inner strength that it made Steve freeze in place for one very long moment.

He remembered thinking, back in New York, that Clint was a far better man than many people knew, the archer himself included in that. He also remembered thinking that there were few men he'd ever known that had such a hidden well of courage inside them. He halfheartedly wondered where it had come from.

Then decided he wasn't sure if he truly ever wanted to know.

The same power in Steve's character had come from years upon years of bullying and general miserableness. He had kept it when he changed because, like Dr. Eskine had pointed out, those who've never had power value it, and those who have always had it value nothing. It was a simple concept that was nonetheless burned into his soul. Knowing such a thing so intimately, Steve swallowed back the bile on his tongue as he wondered exactly what strength Clint had been fighting in order to gain it in his own soul.

And then wondered exactly what the hell to do next.

* * *

Thor felt a headache growing behind his eyes as his gaze shifted from his human companions to his demigod family, asking himself exactly how everything had shifted into such disaster. He'd never seen his father's restraints fail before, neither in peace nor in battle, and the fact that it had happened at this time, to the one whom Loki had harmed so deeply, was too much of a coincidence to set aside.

Hearing Steve's argument for their retreat from the arena and seeing his father's response, Thor let a deep sigh of relief well up in his chest. As he released it, though, he thought it might be premature. After all, Suvid was still looking upon the Avengers as though they were something so vile as not to be mentioned in any manner of society. The Valkyries were back in Valhalla but their confusion and anger were seeping through the air and into his heart, the royal blood in his veins pulsing with their apology and hollow lack of knowledge. Wordlessly he sent a wave of quiet acceptance to them, hating that they'd injured his friend but knowing innately that there was something other than malevolence on their part driving the action.

As the rush of emotion in his veins dimmed with the eventual silence of the demigods' protectors, any calmness Thor was gaining in the quiet was quickly dimmed when he took a good look at the human agent. There red that was dripping to the ground was falling too fast and too thick to tell anything but a poor tale, though the man it was coming from didn't appear to notice.

Instead, whatever estimation of the man Thor had previously held went to stranger heights as Barton slung his bow over his shoulder, sheathed his knife, and gave a fairly decent half-bow to the royalty still standing on the dais.

"Thank you for your understanding, sires," he said softly, his voice soft but betraying none of the weakness that was steadily replacing the strength in his own body.

Then he straightened, turned on his heel, and began a steady walk towards the entry doors of the arena. Every other step, his boot left behind an eerie print, the inner markings outlined brightly by the heavy darkness of his own blood. There was no limp in his movements or hesitation in his walk, however, and Natasha threw a hasty nod to the demigods in the area before whirling and hurrying after her partner, unconsciously skirting his trail.

Thor watched them go with a tightness in his chest that was echoed and displayed in the grip he had on Mjollnir. The second the two agents passed beyond the doors, Tony turned back to the dais as his armor started to shed from his body. His mask fell away and Thor found his own frustration and fury etched upon the billionaire's face.

"What the hell happened back there? You said they weren't supposed to be able to hurt us," he snapped, apparently throwing every sense of caution and self-preservation to the wind. Steve shot the man a sharp look but Tony ignored it and simultaneously jerked his shoulder from the restraining hand the super soldier had attempted to place on him.

"No, damn it! I'm not gonna be quiet, Rogers. Does anyone here see what size problem this is? They attacked him, all of them, and did God knows what kind of damage. They were supposed to be restrained, and they weren't. They were supposed to be under the rule of the king and they didn't listen to him. They went after Barton with a sense of urgency that's usually reserved for a hooker on Friday night. They wanted him. Why?"

Thor swallowed hard and stepped forward into the conversation, a part of him recognizing the supportive half-smile his mother offered in his direction.

"Be calm, Man of Iron. My father's constraints did not fail, they were circumvented. I could feel the change in their auras but did not mark it for import until the first of the Hawk's blood had been spilled. While we do not know what has caused this, please know that this was not a failing of the Allfather's but the success of another," Thor explained sternly, the idea of his father's powers being overcome in any way making his tone rough.

Tony glared at the demigod and snapped, "Yeah, any idea who that might be? Because the only alien I know who's got it out for Barton is supposedly in solitary on death row, or so you told us. Any way Loki's responsible for this?"

Suvid, having been silent, abruptly interjected, "It is impossible. Where he is held is hidden and secure, no magic or even air moving from his cell to the rest of the Realm Eternal. We would not dare taint our world with his betrayal in such a way."

Shaking his head, Tony said, "I'm not so sure your definition of impossible is as solid as I'd like it to be. After all, we just saw the guardians of your souls turn on their master's order and attack us with potentially lethal force. You think we're being unreasonable or something? Think we're being a bit preemptive with our worry?" At this, Tony turned and pointed towards the bloody steps that marked Clint's exit from the arena and he snapped, "Look at that and tell me if you think this isn't an issue."

Taking advantage of the man's pause for breath, Thor took a step forward and said, "We are not making light of this situation, my friend, but we do need time to understand it. Please, return to the rooms. I will be along shortly."

For his part, Stark looked like he had something else to say, but Steve just took a smooth step in front of him and nodded to Thor while giving a strained but honest smile to the team's demigod. He gave a slight bow of the head towards the dais but didn't give the royals any other sign of respect as he left; it was obvious that he was beyond frustrated with the situation as well.

So the team filed from the great hall with silent but purposeful steps, Hulk marching along behind them, half turned towards the immortals with a look of sheer distrust on his face. Thor bit the inside of his cheek in a habit he'd picked up from his human friends and offered his most convincing smile as they left. Huffing in aggravation, the beast growled and finally turned his back to the arena as they crossed the threshold of the entry. The moment they did, the golden doors slammed shut, blocking the team from view.

Thor neither moved nor spoke while the rest of the crowd gathered began to leave the arena, their muttering respectfully low. The general unease in the area was nearly palpable, and the prince knew why. He could still feel the wrongness of the auras of the Valkyries and it turned his stomach, the strangeness of it increasing the ache in head. He'd never had a reason to think of anything in the world as beyond his father's control, but he realized, far too late, one complete and proven truth that he'd turned his back on when he was but a child and had remained ignorant of.

Loki should never be underestimated.

That in mind, Thor knew his first question, and spoke it the moment the room was clear but for him and the ones on the dais.

"Is it possible, father? I thought we'd restrained him and his abilities to the point of completely impotence. Could he have somehow broken through the barriers?"

Odin sighed heavily and sat bodily in his chair, his weariness and frustration at the situation obvious in his motions. Behind him, Forseti stood and frowned at the ground as he searched for words.

"I myself would have said it were impossible but for the display we just witnessed. The Protectors of Valhalla were under an influence beyond His Majesty's, I believe is obvious. But as we all know, Loki is in possession of no powers that can break through our barriers. No, he must have sympathizers within our city walls who believe that causing harm to the human is a justified response to their prince's imprisonment. Misguided though they must be, I shall search them out as dictated by nature and bring them to justice for the grievous harm they've brought, not only to the Hawk, but also to the relations between our two peoples."

Balder stood and added, "I shall lend my aid, child, if you so desire it." At Forseti's grateful nod, the two demigods gave Odin a deep bow and quietly excused themselves from the room, disappearing out the door behind the dais.

Suvid watched the two go with a cold and level glare, his words following them.

"The definition of harm is loosely translated in this situation, my lords."

Thor took a step towards the deity and said strongly, "I do not believe it is, Suvid. My friend is physically harmed, mentally scarred, and his soul is still bruised and tender from Loki's mistreatment of him. There is no room for error in that word."

Raising a palm, Odin again took control of the situation, his voice rising over the group with steadiness.

"Be still, both of you. There is harm done here, Suvid, and that is my declaration. Whether it is perpetrated by our fallen prince or not, however, Odinson, is something that still remains to be seen. We shall make the necessary inquiries and find where the threat is located. Until that time, we shall continue to be gracious hosts to our visitors. Thor, dinner shall commence as expected this evening. But the Hawk's wounds did seem extensive, no matter his attempt to convince everyone otherwise. Bring Groa to him immediately, and be sure the rest of the Avengers are unharmed, as well. We will get to the bottom of this, my son. I promise you that."

Pausing just a moment to consider his father's words, Thor finally nodded and gave a bow to his father. He gave Suvid a long, calculating look as he turned to leave, wondering as to the deity's words to Balder and Forseti as they left. His feet faithfully carrying him away from the dais and through the arena, Thor let himself get lost in his own thoughts as he walked.

He'd known something was wrong the moment the Valkyrie had started stalking Clint from high above. The protectors of Valhalla were creatures of brute strength and ability and had little need for finesse or fighting from a distance. He'd simply figured the creature was attacking its target at Barton's own level.

How wrong he'd been, and how much he cursed himself for it now.

He hadn't stretched the truth when speaking with the lords on the dais. He could see Clint's struggle with his world, the memories of its people that it carried on the wind. He knew the archer was fighting against every element of life every single moment, for every element carried with it a trace and a taint of the one who'd harmed him so thoroughly. It was not a pleasant experience, Thor knew; he'd had a taste of it on Earth when he'd first arrived. Walking towards the Destroyer while fully human, his friends – demigod and less – hiding behind him, had been a similar situation. Everything in the world, at that moment, had been bent on his destruction, and he had a reminder all about of his own inability to change anything about it. It'd been a tough lesson to learn, for sure.

As he walked to the quarters where he knew Groa and the other healers to be, Thor let loose an uncharacteristic curse. The situation was quickly spiraling out of control and they weren't even sure of who was the enemy to be defeated. Thor started to wonder if maybe they should've simply stayed on Earth. Because, every other truth aside, something was becoming blatantly apparent.

Someone wanted Clint Barton dead and would stop at little to accomplish that mission.

* * *

End Chapter Four


End file.
